


On My Knees

by MarziPanda95



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Background Franky/Robin, Boarding School, Everyone else is English, French Sanji, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Internalized Homophobia, Judge Vinsmoke's A+ Parenting, Lots of it, M/M, Not Beta Read, Past Torture, Religion, Sanji Swears a Lot, Zeff is a Good Dad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-03-15 03:06:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13604244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarziPanda95/pseuds/MarziPanda95
Summary: ‘Sanji… you’ve always been a failure, but this… this is unforgiveable! You seduced such a pure man as him, to commit such a grave sin. God cannot forgive this easily, Sanji. You will have to work hard to earn it.’Sanji spent his teenage years going through hell to prove to his father that he was worthy of love. Worthy of redemption. To prove that he wasn't just some sinner. To prove he could change. The devil had twisted his mind. That must be the only reason he found other boys so attractive.All he has to do now is spend a year at some shitty religious boarding school in England. If he can get through the year without any more mistakes, he might be allowed to go back to Zeff.It's a shame that damn mossball in his sociology class has to go and ruin his plans.





	1. Endure

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Before you read, I feel like I've got to briefly explain the British schooling system.  
> This boarding school is a secondary school. Students start in September. The youngest students are 11, and turn 12 between September and the August of the following year. Those students are in Year 7. In Year 11, students take their GCSE exams. After that they have a choice of leaving the school to go to a college (not the same as US college) or going to 6th Form. 6th Form is Year 12 and Year 13. That's when you do AS Levels and A Levels. AS Levels are done in Year 12, and then you build on those for Year 13. A Levels decide if you can go to university or not. You usually only take 3 A Levels.  
> The Strawhats (minus Brook, Franky and Robin) are in Year 13. They're 17, going on 18. Because Zoro's birthday is in November and Sanji's is in March, Zoro is older than Sanji here (Zoro would have been born, say, November 2000 whilst Sanji would be born March 2001). I hope this was a clear enough explanation! Let me know if you want any more things explaining.

Sanji looked out of the window at the passing hedgerows. Each looked the same, and the entire view had been similar for the last two hours other than the changing colours in the sky from grey to lighter grey to blue. A lot of the English countryside looked the same. But that could be said of the French countryside, too, although the weather was better in France. He would have been bored if he weren’t so nervous. No, it wasn’t possible for him to be bored. His mind was racing a mile a minute. He had been in the car for hours, but the anxiety pooling in his gut hadn't shifted. 

 

This was, after all, his last chance. If this new school didn’t work out… he… didn’t even want to know how his father would react. All he had to do was keep his head down and get good grades. And definitely, _definitely,_ forget about making any friends. Especially with other boys. He had to resist that tempting sin. The sin which had ruined his life in the first place. If he ever felt that way again, he should block it out and turn to God. It was the only way he could be saved. 

 

The taxi pulled up in front of the building and shook him out of his thoughts. He had almost missed the building. The overgrown trees which surrounded the old, stone building hid it from view until one was right next to it. Even in the warm autumnal sunlight, the building looked… cold. Sanji got out of the taxi and hauled his suitcase out of the boot. The driver made no attempt to help. He’d been paid in advance by Sanji’s father, and clearly felt no need to provide further service. As soon as Sanji closed the lid of the boot, the taxi drove off. He was left standing alone in front of the ominous school, his feet frozen to the concrete. 

 

When he finally pulled himself inside, he walked through the school’s main entrance and up to the reception desk. The elderly nun at the desk regarded him with a cold eye. She spoke before he had chance to open his mouth.

 

“You must be Sanji Vinsmoke. You’re late.” She said. He decided it would be best not to point out that if he was late, it wasn’t his fault. She handed him a map and a schedule. “Your dormitory is 3B, room four.”

 

The nun went back to her book, pretending that as soon as she wasn’t looking at Sanji, he didn’t exist. He smiled politely and thanked her anyway. He started to follow the map’s directions through the corridors. The schedule told him it was currently dinner time. All the students must be there, instead. He took the opportunity to hurry to the dorms. Maybe he could avoid meeting his dormmates if they were eating. The corridors became narrow and dark. A chill went down his spine, and he muttered a quick prayer under his breath. Endure it. All he had to do was endure.

 

To his surprise, dorm 3B was bright and welcoming. There was a small communal area, consisting of a sofa and a fireplace with a small kitchen to one side. The room was decorated with various pictures of the same group of friends. His eyes lingered on the kitchen before he turned away decisively. Across from this was the bathroom, and the bedrooms were set along one wall. He pushed open the door of the fourth room. It was tiny, but he wasn’t surprised. A small single bed and a wardrobe… and that was it. It was white, plain. Cold. It was better than his living conditions at the camp, though. He closed the door behind him and set his suitcase on the bed, and stared. It felt like his whole life until this point had been condensed into this suitcase. To his father, he…

 

Sanji scowled and pushed those thoughts away. There was no point getting mad at that bastard right now. He spent the next hour unpacking, putting his clothes in the wardrobe and stocking everything else under the bed. He was surprised his dorm mates hadn’t come back from dinner. At any moment he expected to hear them come through the door, but he was left in silence. A tense silence, though he was the only one there. Like he was waiting for a ball to drop, a glass to shatter. He tried to push the feeling down. Shit, he could do with a cigarette. Cigarettes weren’t sin, were they? In all his readings, he’d never come across anything that said so.

 

_‘Sanji… you’ve always been a failure, but this… this is unforgiveable! You seduced such a pure man as him, to commit such a grave sin. God cannot forgive this easily, Sanji. You will have to work hard to earn it.’_

 

Sanji stood from his bed – ignoring the ominous creak it gave – and went to shower. He might as well take advantage of his dorm mates’ illusiveness to take a shower. But showers meant he had more time to think, more time to regret. More time to miss Zeff. Here, in this foreign country, where nobody knew him, he felt… so alone. Zeff was in South Africa, and the Vinsmokes (not that he wanted to see them) were in Dorset. But maybe that was the point. His father wanted to isolate him and challenge him to make sure he had changed. He clenched his fists as the water beat down on his shoulders. He had changed. He couldn’t go back to how he was before.

 

His dormmates still hadn’t returned when Sanji got back to his room. He checked the time. It was past curfew. He frowned. Great. He was rooming with a bunch of rule breakers. He decided to try to sleep. Classes would be starting the next day.

 

But sleep proved to be elusive. The room was cold – the whole school was damn cold – but that wasn’t why he couldn’t sleep. He had too much on his mind. Around midnight he heard the sound of people entering the dorm. It was hard to miss, because they were all _very_ loud. Laughing, teasing, joking. They sounded so _happy_. Sanji grumbled and curled up. He felt more alone than ever.

 

The next morning, Sanji woke up early. When he opened his eyes, the sun was barely starting to rise above the horizon, bathing his room in soft orange light through the thin curtains. He dragged himself out of bed and dressed. The 6th Form at the school didn’t have a uniform, unlike Year 11 and below, but they were expected to dress smartly. Like one would for business. He pulled on his suit jacket, clenching his teeth when he realised it still vaguely smelled like the Baratie. Like fine wine and a warm atmosphere. He fitted the suit much better now than when Zeff first bought it. At the time it had hung off him. Like a skeleton playing dress-up. It had only been a year ago, but so much could change in a year. For once he’d felt wanted.

 

And then his father had butted his nose in where it didn’t belong. Again.

 

He packed his school bag and left the room. He was greeted with the sound of snoring. His dormmates weren’t up yet. Perfect. All Sanji wanted to do was keep his head down and stay invisible. He would be perfectly fine with never running into his dormmates.

 

On his way out he paused to look into the communal area again. He stared at the kitchen. He felt an urge to go in and cook. It was a strong pull, tugging at his chest. Go on. It’s just breakfast. Father would never have to know.

 

He turned away decisively. God would know.

 

_'Cooking is too effeminate a hobby, boy. We don’t want to encourage your other behaviour. Who do you think you are, a housewife? Some man’s bitch? When you’re married, she’ll do all the cooking. You don’t need to know that shit. God didn’t make you that way.'_

Ten minutes later Sanji was sitting in the freezing meal hall, eating by himself. The food wasn’t shitty, but he couldn’t say it was great either. Any food was better than no food. He knew that better than most. The hall was almost empty. It was too early for most students. The grand, cavernous hall felt lonely with few souls to fill it.

 

But being early gave him time to kill. When he was done eating, he headed to the chapel. It was larger than he had been expecting. And warmer. In fact, he’d bet it was one of the only places in the school with heating. It was as elaborate as all the churches he’d been in before. Stained glass windows, fancy alter. All Sanji wanted was some peace. He nodded to the tall, elderly deacon – who was arranging flowers in a windowsill – and sat in one of the pews to pray.

 

Praying had always filled Sanji with peace. Even when he knew God hated him for his sinful thoughts. Even when his father screamed at him that he was going to hell. Even when he was forced to pray on his knees for hours on end. Or at least, that’s what he told himself. There were times his prayers were full of nothing but begging.

 

_Why, Almighty God? Why did you make me this way, if you were only going to turn your back and call me a sinner? Why have you made this temptation so hard to resist? If this is a test, why is it not a fair one? What did I do to deserve this? How can you let them hurt me like this?_

Sanji squeezed his eyes shut and blocked those thoughts out. He didn’t want to dwell on those kinds of prayers today. Today he just wanted to relax. He wanted God’s healing, not his wrath. Maybe that’s why, even at his most desperate, he never swore when he prayed. God wouldn’t look favourably on someone who called him shitty every ten seconds.

 

The school bell jolted him out of his thoughts and he scrambled in his bag for his map, panicking. The deacon chuckled.

 

“Yohoho~! Don’t worry so much, child. You still have five minutes to run off to your lesson, you aren’t late yet. But you had better hurry.”

 

“Uh. Thanks.” Sanji found the map and nodded to the deacon. He rushed out of the chapel and towards his sociology class. He only glanced down at the map for a moment, just to check he was on the right floor, but somehow in that time some idiot managed to get in his way. They collided hard, sending them both stumbling backwards. Neither fell, but they both glared at each other. That’s when Sanji noticed that this idiot had _green hair_. What the hell? Surely that was against the school rules?

 

“Watch where you’re going, blondie.” The green-haired idiot growled out. Sanji stood his ground. He had been backing down to people for too long and now that he was free – he wasn’t free, but he could let himself think it – he let his temper flare.

 

“Fuck off, you should ‘ave seen me coming, shitty mossball.” He clenched the map in his hands whilst mentally patting himself on the back. Mossball, that was a good one.  

 

“Whatever. I’m not going to be late because of you. That sociology teacher’s a bitch.”

 

“You shouldn’t be calling any lovely ladies a- wait, sociology?” Sanji blinked and pointed behind the mossball. “If you’re going to sociology, you’re going the wrong way. Classroom N17 is that way, shithead.”

 

Sanji made particular care to pronounce the ‘h’ in ‘shithead’. It was tricky with his French accent, but he wanted Zoro to know he meant it.

 

“Yeah?” The mossball glanced down at the map in Sanji’s hands. “You’re new, so what do you know? I’ve been going to this stupid school for seven years, I think I know my way around by now.” A smug smirk crossed his face. Sanji was overwhelmed with an urge to wipe it off.

 

“Urgh. I don’t give a shit. Be late if you want.” Sanji pressed the space between his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He felt a headache coming on, and its name was mossball. He moved past the idiot and went down the hall to the classroom. Luckily the second bell hadn’t gone. He wasn’t late yet. He chose a desk near the back, away from everyone else.

 

The teacher came in. She was an older lady, but she had probably once been very attractive. She stared at the group of 17-year-olds until they quietened, cowed by her icy stare. The bell went off ten seconds later. The teacher started to take the register.

 

“Zoro?” She glanced up and raised an eyebrow. “…Where is that directionally-challenged moron?” She made a disappointed sound and then moved on. She started to introduce the subject, what they would be covering, the ins and outs of the hive mind, why sociology was important. And then, finally, ten minutes after the lesson started, the mossball entered the room.

 

“Zoro. Nice of you to finally join us.” The teacher gave him a withering glare. The green-haired teen (Zoro, Sanji decided he ought to remember, if only to avoid him) glared back and sat down without a word. Only, he’d decided to sit near the back. Near Sanji. Sanji groaned. Zoro should be grateful that Sanji held back on the smug grin he felt bubbling to the surface. _‘I think I know my way around’ my arse._

 

“You should have at least apologised to ‘er, shitty mossball. ‘Ow’d you get ‘ere so late? You were in the right fucking corridor when I left you.” Sanji whispered. Zoro seemed surprised to see him. Hell, was this guy really so dumb?

 

_Dear God. I take it all back. All the stuff I endured back at that camp was nothing compared to how testing this idiot is. I’m sorry I underestimated how much you like to torture me. Amen._

“The staircases move.” Zoro said defensively. Sanji snorted and went back to listening to the teacher. Where did Zoro think they were, Hogwarts? He seriously must be an idiot. Sanji ignored him for the rest of the lesson, even when he put that green head down on the desk and fell asleep. Once the hour was up and the bell rang, Sanji stood and collected his stuff into his bag. Zoro remained stubbornly asleep. Sanji wanted to leave Zoro and let him be late but… he probably ought to look to the bible in these trying times.

 

_Dear God. Is this the whole ‘being charitable towards your enemies’ thing? Turn the other cheek?_

“Oy, mossball. Wake up.” Sanji hit Zoro in his head with his pencilcase. “You better get to your next lesson unless you want to be late again.”

 

To his frustration, the idiot kept snoring away. A pretty ginger girl who had been sitting nearby turned and rolled her eyes. She delivered a hard blow to Zoro’s head. Hard enough it even had Sanji wincing, and certainly hard enough to wake the mossball up. The ginger girl put her hands on her hips.

 

“Zoro! If you sleep through Mr Smith’s lesson and force me to bribe him again, I’m going to double your debt.” She leaned over and gave him a dark smile. “You know that… right?”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Zoro grumbled and scratched his chest. He hadn’t made any notes or even taken anything out of his bag to make notes _with_. How had Zoro gotten into such a good school with such a shitty attitude? “Calm down, witch. I’m awake.”

 

“Don’t call lovely ladies bad names, you shitty ape.” Sanji swung his bag onto his shoulder, hitting Zoro with it as he did. Petty? Yes. Worth it? Absolutely.

 

“The hell’s your problem, curly? You’ve been on my arse all day.” Zoro stood. He was a little taller than Sanji, and a lot wider. Pure muscle.

 

_Don’t think about his muscles, you damn sinner._

“You’re the one who keeps pissing me off.” Sanji retorted. He tried to square his shoulders to look bigger, but he was still underweight from… _don’t think about that now, don’t go back there now…_ and he only managed to look mildly threatening. Like a fox standing up to a tiger. But even weak, even with his mind flashing back and forwards to the last time someone had tried to intimidate him, Sanji wasn’t to be underestimated. When Zoro reached out to push him, he brought up a leg to kick the hand away. Zoro blinked, clearly not expecting such fast movement. Then, slowly, his mouth curled into a dangerous smirk.

 

“You can fight?”

 

Sanji felt his heart skip a beat. Oh. Oh _no._ Before he could think of a reply, the teacher interrupted.

 

“Not in my classroom you aren’t.” She glared at them hard and shooed them – Zoro, Sanji and the ginger girl – out of the door. “Don’t you have classes to go to? Scram!”

 

The three of them had the door slammed in their faces. Sanji glared at the back of Zoro’s head and took out his timetable. He had a free period and then lunch, and double English Literature after lunch. Without another word to Zoro or the ginger girl (he felt bad about that, but he also wanted to get away) he left.

 

Sanji didn’t see Zoro for the rest of the day. He met a few new people in that time – in the library and in English Lit – but he made a point not to really talk to anyone beyond polite introduction. Most of the other students had been at this school together since Year 7 – so when they’d been about eleven. A few had only joined last year for A Levels. Sanji was the only new person joining in the second year of A Level, Year 13. A lot of people were curious. After all, after doing one’s AS Levels in Year 12, you built upon those to get good grades in Year 13. He made up some excuse or another – _my family unexpectedly moved, my last school was bad, my last school didn’t offer sociology…_ anything as far away from the truth as possible.

 

The final bell rang at 4pm, dismissing him from his English Literature lesson. And not a moment too soon. Sanji could enjoy Frankenstein well enough but two hours was too much for anyone. He exited the classroom with a feeling of dread, remembering that he still had to meet his dormmates. He returned to the library and spent a couple of hours there, getting an early start on his homework. The quiet made him feel at peace. It helped to quell the anxiety that constantly plagued him. Quiet company was better than rowdy company – and better than being alone. Being alone reminded him too much of the past.

 

When 6pm rolled around, he felt the familiar pain of hunger in his stomach. The thought of pushing through a gaggle of 11 to 17-year-olds for his food didn’t appeal but he also didn’t have a choice. And he didn’t want to starve.

 

The food hall was as busy as he had expected. He picked up his food and looked for a seat. In the corner he could see Zoro with the ginger girl from earlier, and several others. One, he recognised from his English Literature class. A tan boy with curly hair. Another boy at the table – skinny, with black hair – suddenly stood and waved in Sanji’s direction.

 

 _What the fuck is he doing?_ Sanji looked around but nobody else was standing near him, nobody else the boy could be waving to. The boy laughed and cupped his hands around his mouth.

 

“Hey! Sanji! Over here!” He yelled. _How does he know my name?_ The students on nearby tables glared at Zoro’s table. The black-haired boy looked like he was about to yell again so Sanji hurried over to save himself the wrath of the whole food hall. The boy grinned.

 

“Nami says you’re new! And that you and Zoro made friends!”

 

“We what? The hell we did!” Zoro, to the boy’s right, choked on his spaghetti. Nami, sitting beside the curly-haired boy from Sanji’s English Lit, smirked.

 

“I like a guy who can stand up to Zoro. We need more people like that around here.” She said.

 

“You just want someone you can order around.” Zoro accused, pointing his fork in her direction.

 

“Don’t assume such nasty things about a beautiful lady.” Sanji snapped instantly. He sat down between Nami and a small brown-haired boy who looked positively terrified by Sanji’s glare. The black-haired boy (that straw hat was against school rules, surely?) laughed.

 

“I like you. Let’s be friends! I’m Luffy.”

 

“Luffy, you can’t just invite everyone you like into the group. This is an exclusive crew.” The curly-haired boy pouted. At Sanji’s glare, he backtracked swiftly. “N-Not that it’s not great to meet you, Sanji! I’m Usopp. You’re in my English Lit, right?”

 

At that, the group relaxed and started to talk about schoolwork. The small boy was Tony, better known as Chopper. He had skipped a couple of school years to be in Year 13 with them. He was only 15. He was taking the sciences and wanted to be a doctor. The young teen eventually stopped looking like Sanji was about to try to eat him and started to enthusiastically talk to him about… something to do with biology. Sanji didn’t really get it, but he smiled and nodded along anyway. The guy with the blue hair and the dark-haired girl turned out to be adults, and teachers at the school. Sanji thought it was weird that they were sitting with students, but he didn’t comment on that. Robin, the woman, was his history teacher. They would be seeing each other in class the next day. Franky taught engineering at GCSE and A Level. Sanji found Franky kind of loud, but endearing. Robin was lovely. Intelligent, calm, kind. But perhaps a little too... observant. He felt like she could look into his mind or something. 

 

Sanji tried to keep the conversation firmly on the lives of the others, rather than talking about himself. Inevitably he was asked about why he had transferred, and he told them his family had moved to England suddenly. It wasn’t a total lie. Judge and his siblings were now living in Southern England somewhere. Dorset? He wasn’t sure. He had never even visited the house. Inevitably he was then asked where he was from and he had to explain that he was French but grew up partly in South Africa. When he was asked for more details, he swiftly changed the subject.

 

An hour later, they had all finished their food. Luffy was bouncing in his seat, as if he were ready to take off at a moment’s notice.

 

“Sanji, come back to our dorm! Me and Zoro and Usopp and Chopper are in the same dorm. Oh, and Katakuri, but you haven’t met him ‘cause he doesn’t eat with us. It’ll be fun!” Luffy said. His eager expression reminded Sanji of an excited puppy. Sanji almost felt bad turning him down. Almost. But he was exhausted. After years of negative human interaction, and then kind-but-distant interaction with Zeff, Luffy and the others were a bit… much. His social battery was drained to nothing.

 

“Thanks, but I’m pretty tired. I’m going to the chapel and then I’m going back to my dorm to sleep.” He said.

 

“The chapel? Why?” Usopp asked curiously. Sanji blinked.

 

“To… pray?” Sanji replied, as if this were obvious. The others all looked at him with varying shades of disbelief and interest. Zoro snorted.

 

“You actually believe in that crap?” He levelled his dark eyes at Sanji. It was like Zoro was trying to look right through him.

 

“Zoro, please don’t be rude.” Robin smiled genially. “This is a religious school. It is not at all unusual that Mr Vinsmoke would pray.”

 

“Yeah. Brook believes in all that stuff.” Chopper added.  

 

“So there’s nothing wrong with it.” Franky said, nodding sagely. “Standing by your beliefs is super, so long as those beliefs don’t hurt anyone!”

 

Sanji stood, feeling uncomfortable with the situation. He didn’t want to talk about this.

 

_You coward._

“I’ll see you lovely ladies later.” Sanji picked up his tray without addressing anything the others had just said. He caught Robin and Franky glancing at each other. “And you guys too, I guess.” He added with a grumble. He left without looking back.

 

The chapel was almost as quiet as it had been that morning. There were a few students in the pews. A couple of them were praying but there were some who had clearly decided the chapel was a great place for quiet gossip. Sanji ignored them and sat in one of the front pews. He saw the old, thin deacon from that morning and nodded to him. The man sat next to Sanji.

 

“Did you not have dinner?” Sanji asked. The man looked as if he ought not to skip any meals.

 

“We eat before the students. Yohoho! It’s a shame. I miss out on valuable family time.”

 

“Family time?” Sanji repeated.

 

“My great nephew is a student here. His crew are family to us.”

 

_Crew? Where have I heard that before?_

“I’ll leave you to your thoughts.” The man’s face crinkled in a smile. “Remember that curfew is nine.”

 

Sanji had forgotten about the curfew. Damn. He had hoped to just hide away and sleep in the chapel but that wasn’t going to happen. The skeleton deacon left to talk to another man at the alter. From the clothes, it was the priest.

 

Sanji stayed in the chapel until 8.50. He had put off meeting these dormmates as long as humanly possible. Even on the way back to the dorm he took his time, dragged his feet, and arrived at dorm 3B at 8.59. He could hear loud voices and music on the other side. He gathered up his courage and opened the door. He stepped into the dorm and turned to look into the communal living area. Eight faces turned to look at him. Seven of them were very _familiar_ faces.

 

“Sanji! You came after all!”

 

Shit.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! I want to add a couple more notes. Firstly, I'm not anti-religion. I'm anti-'religion being used as an excuse to hurt people'. There are going to be characters in the story who don't agree with that viewpoint, though. Secondly, it's been a long time since I was at 6th Form. Although I've chosen the same subjects for Sanji that I chose myself, I can't really remember most of it. So I'm sorry if anyone's currently studying those subjects!  
> This chapter ended up longer than I expected. I'm going to be alternating writing between this and my YOI fanfiction, so the next chapter for this will likely be up in a couple of weeks :) kudos and comments always encourage me to write quicker though, hint hint ;) Thanks for reading!


	2. Somebody Once Told Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What is hell? I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love.”  
> ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

Sanji had been at his new school for almost a week. All things considered, it wasn’t quite the hell he’d thought it might be. Occasionally, he even thought that he might be having fun.

 

Luffy’s ‘crew’ was loud, and obnoxious, but they were… refreshing. Compared to what he was used to. They had invited him in (mostly – there’s an exception to every rule) with open arms but he’d stayed wary. He still woke up before the others and ate breakfast alone. He grabbed lunch and ate outside alone. He spent his free periods alone. The only time he spent with the others was at dinner. Even after dinner, he spent time in the chapel or library before he went back to the dorm. He didn’t want to get to close to anyone. And, well, he wanted to avoid Zoro and Katakuri.

 

Katakuri made him nervous, but he didn’t know why. That first evening, when he’d been dragged into a game of Jenga by the others, Katakuri had been sitting in the corner. Watching. Just watching. He barely spoke – he didn’t even introduce himself. And yet, even though Katakuri didn’t act like he was interested in getting to know Sanji, Sanji felt those dark eyes on him at all times. A shiver went down his spine every time he caught Katakuri staring. Sanji might not understand a lot of social cues, but even he knew it was rude to keep staring when you got caught doing it. But Katakuri never looked away.

 

_Fucking hell. It’s like being 13 all over again._ He thought, before he pushed that thought away. Katakuri wasn’t like Father Charpentier.

 

Eventually, another issue came to light. One he hadn’t even considered. For the last four years, he hadn’t spent any social time with people his own age. Even before that he’d been isolated, with his father refusing to buy him a phone or give him access to the internet. Even with Zeff, there hadn’t been much use for a phone or the internet. He’d been too busy with cooking – and Zeff had deemed it more necessary that Sanji get up-to-date with films. Mostly old stuff like Titanic and Dirty Dancing. The films everyone has seen. Zeff then moved on to Disney films. At first Sanji had complained. He was 16, not a child, but he had stopped protesting after the first few. He realised that had missed out, not seeing these in his childhood. And if he cried when Ariel found the courage to run away from her father and find love, well, Zeff wouldn’t judge him for it.

 

He had a phone now, but it was a basic little flip phone – more in line with something you’d find in 2007. It could only text and call, and there was only one number. Judge’s. Finally having friends (or at least, acquaintances) his own age made it clear he had missed out on a lot. Even normal conversations brought up terms he wasn’t familiar with. At dinner on Thursday, just after history, Usopp looked up from his phone with a smile. Sanji just wondered why everyone insisted on having phones during meals.

 

_Meals are for eating, aren’t they? Not for… calling people? Texting? Is that all people do with phones?_

 

“Oh, hey, since we’re in the same class, can I add you on Facebook, Sanji? I tried to look for you, but your name didn’t come up.” Usopp raised his eyebrows and started muttering how someone with such an unusual name shouldn’t be hard to find.

 

“Face… book?” Sanji blinked once, twice. The name was familiar. He’d probably seen it on the news. He’d had access to news channels and not a lot else.

 

“Does it have a different name in France, or something?” Nami paused with her fork of salmon halfway to her mouth.

 

“No, I… don’t think so?” Sanji tried to smile reassuringly. “Sorry. I don’t ‘ave any social media. The internet isn’t… I’m not… familiar with it.”

 

At that, everyone around the table stopped to stare at him – even Luffy, who had been rather happily stuffing his face. Sanji felt sweat bead on his brow. Had he said something wrong?

 

“Of course he’s not. God’s little angel wouldn’t want to be corrupted by shit like pornhub or tumblr.” Zoro was the first to speak, with a derivative snort like he had Sanji all figured out.

 

“Fuck off, mossball. We can’t all be destined for prison like you.” Sanji shot back. He and Zoro still weren’t getting along. It wasn’t a surprise. They were like chalk and cheese. They were totally different. Weren’t they? He swallowed when he saw Zoro clench a fist.

 

“What the hell would you know about my future, curly? I’ve got dreams just like anyone.” Zoro’s voice was dark and it sent a chill though Sanji. But not necessarily a… bad chill. “What would a sheltered _prince_ like you know about dreams, huh?”

 

Sanji glared back at Zoro and briefly considered throwing his tea at the smug bastard. Sanji had dreams too. _Had._ Not anymore. Those kinds of dreams were out of his reach now and he didn’t like to be reminded of that. He didn’t like to be reminded that his future had all been planned out for him.

 

“More importantly!” Franky interrupted the argument before it could escalate, like a responsible adult should. “Does that mean… you don’t know about _memes?!”_

The rest of the table looked varying degrees of shocked and horrified – except Robin, who was smirking into her coffee. Usopp looked the worst. He looked at Sanji like the world had just ended.

 

“Sanji, please…” He begged. “Please… tell me that’s not true… you know what a meme is, right? You know all about, like… evil Kermit memes?” At Sanji’s blank look, Usopp got ever more desperate with each nonsensical phrase. “Steamed Hams? We Are Number One but it’s woahed by Crash Bandicoot? All Star? _Bee Movie?!_ ”

 

The last one was screeched, high-pitched and loud, and Sanji cringed back. He shrugged a shoulder, not really seeing the big deal.

 

“I understood all those words. But not in that order.” Sanji admitted. Usopp dramatically collapsed against the table, practically weeping.

 

“Don’t you have internet on your phone?” Chopper asked over Usopp’s loud lamenting.

 

“…No.” Sanji felt himself shrink down slightly in his seat. He felt like he had missed out on so much.

 

_How am I ever going to catch up? Everyone’s looking down at me, I know it, they’re about to reject me or report me to father and then-_

 

“Hey, bro, don’t worry about it.” Franky’s words cut through the rising panic. “I’ve got loads of old phones. I can get one connected to the school’s internet easy. You can’t really do a super group project without the internet!” He flashed Sanji a winning smile. Sanji deflated in gratefulness. He didn’t have good experiences with teachers. The teachers at the camp had all been… well, they weren’t like Franky.

 

“Thank you, sir.” He smiled back. Franky launched into another ‘when we’re eating or in the dorms, don’t call me sir, I’m not just a teacher bro, I’m your bro’ speech (he was getting used to them) whilst Usopp and Nami and Luffy whispered to each other.

 

“Yo! It’s decided!” Luffy cut through Franky. “On Saturday night, we’re going to host a meme education day for Sanji in the dorm!”

 

_Dear God. Please give me the strength to survive memes. Amen._

* * *

 

 

Not for the first time, God’s strength wasn’t enough. Franky hauled a TV into the communal area and connected up his laptop. Katakuri was thankfully absent. He was off visiting family, apparently, as a lot of kids did over the weekend. The rest of the group gathered around with snacks and drinks Luffy had stolen from the kitchen. Sanji questioned whether that was really necessary. Surely it wouldn’t take that long to educate him on some internet jokes?

 

…He was wrong. They spent  _hours_ browsing memes. First they went through a Youtube playlist called ‘important videos’, whilst the others (especially Luffy, Usopp and Franky) attempted to explain them all. This was part of meme history, apparently. Some were funny without context but others made him feel completely lost. He felt like he had fallen into an alternative universe where whatever was weirdest was funniest. Then they watched vine compilations, and then dove into the world of image memes. They resurfaced back on Youtube with remixes of songs from children’s TV shows/films, and then swam through dozens of more recent memes.

 

“Do you get it, Sanji? It’s like, somebody touch-a my spaghet, but as All Star.” Usopp waved his hands around as he tried to explain. Sanji ran a hand through his hair.

 

“That spaghetti’s probably shitty if they left it sitting around like that, anyway. Cold noodles aren’t any good unless it’s Japanese cold soba, which is designed that way. Even then, it has to be prepared delicately to balance flavours.” He muttered. After a few seconds, he noticed everyone was staring at him. “…What?”

 

“You can cook, Sanji?!” Luffy was especially excited by this prospect. He was sitting on the floor, leaning his back against the sofa where the girls sat on either side of Sanji. He craned his neck back to look at the Frenchman, his eyes glittering. Sanji had never seen anyone so excited at the prospect that he could cook. He fought the urge to curl in on himself and deny everything.

 

“I’ve… dabbled in cooking before.” He couldn’t exactly lie, not after he’d let slip his noodle knowledge. “I’m nothing special. I don’t cook anymore.” He made sure his tone was insistent and firm. He didn’t cook anymore. It wasn’t a hobby fit for a man. Apparently, that didn’t matter to Luffy.

 

“You need to start cooking again so you can make me meat! Nobody else here can cook and I get detention when I get caught raiding the kitchen.” He pouted and leaned closer, his head almost in Sanji’s lap. How did he stretch so far? Sanji shied away. Men weren’t supposed to touch men like that.

 

“I’m not going to fucking start cooking again just to feed your shitty appetite. It would be a waste, since you eat _anything._ ” He rolled his eyes.

 

“Then you should feed the rest of us too!” Chopper – sitting next to Luffy – craned his neck back, too. “I’d really love some desserts…” And dammit, Chopper’s big brown eyes were hard to resist. The kid was so sweet. Endearing, like a younger brother should be. Sanji’s real younger brother was anything but endearing. Sanji groaned.

 

“I’ll think about it. Good enough?” He said. He ignored the warm feeling their responding smiles gave him. He would have turned back to the TV, but a buzzing in his pocket – accompanied by the default ringtone – interrupted the meme marathon. He felt like a bucket of cold water had been thrown on him. Or injected into his veins. Or maybe he’d been thrown into a swimming pool and now he was drowning. His spine straightened. He stood to get his phone out and flip it open. Judge. Of course it was. Who else would be calling? Zeff didn’t have his number. Nobody did except his father.   

 

_It’s as if he knows the exact moment I feel happiest and interupts to ruin it all._

 

“Sorry, guys. I ‘ave to take this.” He conjured up a weak, apologetic smile and moved to the corner of the room to take the call. He didn’t feel the need to move from the room, because none of the crew knew French.

 

_“Sanji. I trust you are settling into the school well?”_

_“What does that matter? I’m only here to prove I’ve changed. Why does it fucking matter if I’m enjoying myself?”_

_“Good. I see you’ve learnt something, after all. You aren’t there to have fun or make friends.”_ Sanji glanced over to the others, who had moved onto the next video. Their laughter made something indescribable catch in his throat. Was it pain? Sadness? Or… yes, it was jealousy. They could laugh so easily. Even Zoro looked happy – chucking and rolling his eyes. His father continued. _“You’re there to make sure you are ready to follow your brothers and sister into the hierarchy of the church. I have people around you making sure you are still following God’s word. One toe out of line, and you know where you will end up.”_

Sanji leaned his back against the wall, pressed himself into it, as if trying to make himself disappear. He clenched his teeth. A paranoid feeling crawled over his skin.

 

_“You have people here reporting back to you?”_

_“Of course I do. I can’t trust you to keep your word. If I leave you to your own devices you’ll turn back to sin. You are under my thumb, Sanji. You always will be. You are one of my creations. I made you  and your siblings to raise me up the ladder. I speak for God when I say this. That is your purpose. It is what God wants from you.”_

_“…Yeah.”_ Sanji sighed shakily. He had always been told that. His purpose was to obey his father. That was God’s wish. But Zeff had sown a seed of doubt in him. Zeff told him that Judge didn’t speak for God. No man did. Still, regardless of the truth, Sanji had learnt from an early age not to argue with his father.

 

_“I hope to hear good things, Sanji.”_

With that, his father hung up. He lowered his phone from his ear with a sigh and stared at it, then closed it. When he looked up, he found the others staring at him. He smiled wearily.

 

“Désolé. I think I’m going to go to bed now. This was… educational. I had fun.” He genuinely had, but it was hard to sound authentic when he’d just spoken to his father. “See you tomorrow.”

 

“Of course.” Robin (“Miss Nico in the classroom, Robin outside the classroom, please.”) smiled politely in that odd ‘I know everything’ kind of way she had. “I look forward to it.”

 

Sanji didn’t understand why Robin would look forward to Mass when she wasn’t religious, but he found his answer the next day. Every Sunday the whole school was required to attend Mass in the chapel. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary at first. It was less ‘fire and brimstone’ than the services at the camp at least. Most of the students looked bored out of their minds. Some – Zoro included, that green-haired idiot – had even fallen asleep. The old skeletal deacon from Sanji’s escapes to the chapel was playing the organ. At some point over the last few days, the deacon had introduced himself as Brook, Luffy’s great uncle. He was better than any of the organ players Sanji had ever come across. He clearly had a passion for the music, not just an obligation. Even as most of the students droned the Latin hymns without feeling, stumbling over the foreign words, the organ player’s fingers danced merrily along the keys. On the second hymn, Sanji realised that the songs were original rather than the old classics he’d come to know. They were well composed. Having been in training to enter the church from a young age, he knew a lot of Latin. Something about the lyrics… it was familiar, and he shook his brain to find the reason. They reminded him of the meme marathon, somehow. On the third song, he realised why. A sidelong look at his snickering dormmates confirmed it.

 

‘ _Numqvam tē tradam;_  
 _Numqvam tē dēficĭam;_  
 _Numqvam concursāns tē dēsĕram.  
_ _Numqvam facĭam ut fleās;_  
 _Numqvam valēre tē jubēbō;_  
 _Numqvam mentĭēns tē lædam_.’

He wondered how much of the school knew they were getting Rickrolled every Sunday. He wondered if the _priest_ knew. Unlikely, looking at the straight-faced and serious looking man who was leading the service. The song itself – the tune, the tempo – wasn’t the same as Never Gonna Give You Up, but the lyrics (albeit in Latin) were. Looking back, he recognised the lyrics of the first song as Africa by Toto, and the second… Bring Me to Life? He surprised himself with just how much of the previous day’s ‘meme education’ had really stuck.

 

The congregation was played out to the tune of Hotline Bling, and Sanji had no idea what to think anymore. His father had thought this place a serious religious institution. Not one on par with the camp (the camp’s methods were _illegal_ in the UK) but certainly one strict enough to satisfy Judge’s high standards. Enough to satisfy Judge’s need to make sure Sanji was deeply unhappy at all times. But under the radar, the students – and even some of the teachers – were, well, having fun. He didn’t think Brook was mocking the church, because he’d played with enthusiasm and every keystroke spoke of a man who was committed to showing God his passion. And, really, the priest must know what those Latin lyrics meant. He clearly hadn’t connected them to their source, but he (and Brook, more than likely) had connected those lyrics to their own faith. It was a bizarre way of praising God. Zeff would argue there was no right or wrong way as long as you felt it. Judge would probably have a seizure if he knew.

 

Which brought to mind the question of exactly what his father did or didn’t know. He’d said he had people here reporting to him. A teacher? The priest? Maybe even a student? The latter didn’t seem likely with all the bored faces around him, but anyone could be paid off and his father had a lot of money. He couldn’t trust anyone. He looked ahead, to where the crew were walking on their way to lunch.

 

_I can’t even trust them, can I?_

 

The thoughts rang hollow. He couldn’t imagine someone like Luffy, Chopper, Franky or Robin ever selling him out. And whilst Nami loved money, and wasn’t the most moral of people, she wouldn’t accept a bribe like that. Usopp was a coward but he probably knew selling Sanji out would lead to trouble with Luffy. Brook was an unknown, but Brook had agreed to make hymns out of pop song lyrics, so he was unlikely to be in leagues with Judge. And Zoro…

 

His eyes landed on the back of Zoro’s head. Then they panned downwards, to those broad shoulders and rippling muscle. His mouth went dry, and he quickly averted his gaze. Zoro was outspoken about his atheism. He wouldn’t work with someone like Judge. But if it were to get rid of Sanji… he looked back up again, and his eyes once more landed on Zoro’s impressive back muscles. The mossball turned his head to snark something at Nami, a small smirk playing on his lips.

 

Sanji quickly turned left to head towards the dorms instead of to the meal hall, before his traitorous gaze could linger more than it already had. Dammit, why couldn’t he just _stop_ that? He shook with disgust at his own actions. He was repulsive. He shouldn’t even be looking, let alone noticing how nice Zoro’s fucking _smile_ was.

 

The dorm was thankfully empty.

 

_Dear God. Thank you for giving me time alone, but do you think maybe you could make Zoro less… Zoro? I know the Devil likes to tempt me. That’s all this is. But do you think you could make it easier to resist? Please set his face on fire so I can stop staring. Amen._

He bit his lip. It was selfish to ask God to make this task easier. It should be down to Sanji to resist sin. But here he was, wishing Zoro would get uglier so he didn’t have to consciously draw his eyes away whenever they strayed to the mossball.

 

He made his way to the small kitchen area. Making himself lunch didn’t count as cooking unless he made it good, right? He looked into the mini-fridge and the cupboard. They were surprisingly full. A hundred recipes ran through his head. Delicious and satisfying and impressive, with balanced spices and each bite bursting with pride and the sheer joy of cooking. He would love making himself a proper lunch, even if he was the only one to eat it. The main draw of cooking, for him, had always been feeding other people. Watching people enjoy his food made him happy, ever since his mother’s first encouraging smile. He felt useful. Making people smile had been his own power. Something his siblings and his father could never do.

 

_“Cooking is too effeminate a hobby, boy. We don’t want to encourage your other behaviour.”_

Sanji flinched and leaned over the stove, bringing his hands to his head and tangling his fingers in his hair just to make sure he could. To make sure the iron mask wasn’t locked around his head. To make sure he was _here_ and not _there._ After a deep, shuddering breath to steady himself, he grabbed some instant noodles from the cupboard and decided to make them up with nothing but boiling water and the flavour packet. His hands itched to grab the garlic, the spring onions, or anything in the small spice cupboard. Even if everything in the spice cupboard was ten years out of date. Yikes. Where did they even get those?

 

He ignored all of these instincts and watched the kettle boil with a vacant expression.

 

_I have to get through this year without any mistakes. And then what? Zeff isn’t going to ride in on a fucking unicorn and save me. This is it. Welcome to the rest of my life. Instant ramen and sidelong glances at what I can’t have. Men and spices._

 

He squeezed his eyes shut to barricade the tears inside. Resisting temptation seemed so easy before he came here.

 

And Zoro was about to make that resistance so, _so_ much harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. JUST in time. I told you two weeks, and I'm cutting it close. It took longer than expected to write the next chapter of my other ongoing fanfic. But rejoice, ZoSan lovers, my Yuri On Ice fanfic only has one chapter left, so then I can focus more on this. It'll probably be another two weeks or so before the next chapter of this, but for sure, it'll be up eventually. 
> 
> I have to say, the response to this fic has been overwhelming! Thank you all so much for the comments and the kudos! I really didn't expect such a positive response and it made me so happy, and really pushed me to get this chapter out on time. You're all the best <3


	3. Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If Jesus came back and saw what was being done in his name, he'd never stop throwing up.”   
> ― Woody Allen, Hannah and Her Sisters

Out of all of Sanji’s classes, he definitely enjoyed sociology the least.

 

Not only did he have to sit next to Zoro (because the teacher wouldn’t let him move seats) but some of the subject matter covered was uncomfortable. The very reason he hadn’t taken psychology was to avoid having to think about how messed up he was. Instead, he had to think about how messed up _society_ was, which was almost… worse.

 

“Technically, following guidance from the school,” the teacher wrinkled her nose, “I should be teaching you all that the classic nuclear family is the best kind of family. The church teaches us this. And it’s certainly one of the more stable kinds of family. The beanpole family has too much potential to die out, and the single-parent family usually has trouble with parenting. Reconstructed families can be complicated.”

 

Sanji nodded to himself. That’s what he’d been taught, too. Find a girl, marry her, and have some kids. But doubt had always plagued him on that point, too. His family used to be a nuclear family. A man, his wife, five kids.

 

_But even when we were that perfect nuclear family, we were far from perfect._

His father had wanted more children. Having children to back him in the church would make him powerful and he didn’t think five was enough.

 

“The school also advises against birth control and abortion. If God wills a woman to fall pregnant, she shouldn’t interfere with his plans. Nuclear families in our church can grow quite large.”

 

The quadruplet pregnancy of Sanji and his brothers had been hard on their mother. She was too weak to bring another pregnancy to term. But Judge didn’t care for a doctor’s recommendations. He thought himself above the doctors, above the experts, above anyone except God himself.

 

“Of course, _some_ teachers at this school don’t think they have to follow the rules of the church upon which it is founded.” The teacher sighed. Sanji saw Zoro and Nami exchange a look, and he realised the teacher must be talking about Franky and Robin. They had been married for two years, apparently. Judge – or any of the camp advisors – would have expected her to have at least one child by now. As the teacher went on, Sanji slipped into thoughts of his own mother.

 

_Sanji padded into his mother’s bedroom, dripping water over the carpet. He screwed up his face in guilt. He knew she was sick and getting the place damp wasn’t going to help. He thought about turning around and going back out into the rain, but a voice stopped him._

_“Sanji, sweetheart?” His head shot up to look at the bed. She wasn’t usually awake when he visited. She spent so much time sleeping that he was sure one day she wouldn’t wake up. He couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been wearing pyjamas. In all his memories, she had always been in bed. But when she smiled at him, he felt like everything was going to be okay. “I’m so happy you came to visit, Sanji. Did you make me something?”_

_He bit his lip and went over to the bed. He removed his coat and shoes and clambered onto the bed, being careful to avoid her in case he made everything worse. His brothers always said he made things worse just by touching them. He showed her the lunchbox he’d brought with him._

_“I-It’s not very good…” He mumbled. He avoided her eyes. He had seen his father’s disappointment painted clearly, every day, in the man’s expression. He didn’t want to see it on the soft features of his mother. But suddenly he was grabbed around his waist by a thin, pale arm, and hauled weakly over to sit on her lap. Even without twisting his head to look at her, he could feel her smile. Radiant as the sun._

_“It doesn’t matter how good or bad it is, Sanji. It doesn’t matter if you’ve never cooked before in your life. What matters is that you made it for me. You put your heart into making something.” She was warm against his back. Her voice was cosy. “When you put all your feelings into making food so I can feel better, well… there’s no way it can taste bad!”_

“Oy. Dartbrow. The lesson ended. You too busy fantasising over your perfect future housewife?” Zoro’s voice tore him out of the memory like a plaster torn from a grazed knee. Sanji scowled up at Zoro and started to gather his books to put into his bags. It must have shown on his face that he was still out of it, because Zoro kept talking. “I bet you loved that, huh? The blind praise of the nuclear family. You must come from a family like that.”

Sanji finally looked at Zoro’s face. Zoro looked irritated. Nami, in the background, also looked unhappy. Sanji shook away the memories of his mother long enough to put two-and-two together. He didn’t know anything about Zoro’s home life, but he knew Nami’s family wasn’t conventional. A single parent foster family. Just her, her foster mum, and a foster sister.

 

“So what if I do?” Sanji retorted. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

 

And despite all of the brainwashing at the camp, the nights he’d been forced to listen to these things over and over – _get married have kids never divorce never remarry never use birth control never let your wife work never be anything but perfect never sin_ – he believed what he was saying. His family had never been better by virtue of being a nuclear family. There had never been any love from his father or brothers. Now that it was a single parent family, it was much worse. But not because it was a single parent family. No, it was worse because his mother was gone. Dead and buried without a shred of remorse from Judge Vinsmoke. And with her, Judge buried the only warmth in the family. The only one who ever showed him love.

 

He had seen the texts between Nami and her foster mother. Heard them on the phone. Seen the pictures.

 

He would give anything for a family like that. He would give up his ‘perfect’ nuclear family ten times over to experience love like that.

 

“Bet it means you think your family is better than ours.” Zoro muttered. He’d said it almost too quietly to be heard. But Sanji had heard, and he reacted faster than he thought himself capable of. With gritted teeth and clenched fists he lashed out with his right leg, pivoting on his left. Zoro, unprepared but apparently well trained, half blocked with his arm but was still pushed back a few feet. Zoro smirked, changed his stance, and suddenly they were fighting.

 

_Fuck, yes._

 

The teacher had already left the classroom. There was nobody around to stop them. Nami looked like she wanted to try, but in the end she stepped back and bit her lip. She winced with every punch Zoro delivered and every kick Sanji returned. They kept going, hit, dodge, kick, pivot, dodge, hit. With each connection of flesh against flesh, he felt better. He felt more alive than he had in years.

 

“That’s enough.” Suddenly Luffy was between them, arms raised. His left hand touched Sanji’s chest, and his right touched Zoro’s. It felt fitting. Left hand. The sinister hand. He shook his head of those thoughts and leg his leg drop back to the floor. He took a deep breath. He felt worn out. _Satisfied._ Like a weight had been lifted. Maybe he ought to fight with Zoro more often. Glancing at Zoro, he could see the mossball had the same idea.

 

“Behind the oak trees. Tonight. Don’t be late.” Zoro said before he abruptly turned and left.

 

For the three weeks after that, the two of them would meet to spar behind the trees – Zoro was always late, but never by more than twenty minutes. It was just them. Just the thrill and _closeness_ and push and pull of fighting. There were never expectations. They never talked. When he was fighting with Zoro, he wasn’t Sanji. He was just a man, challenging another man. For that hour or so the past didn’t matter. He could forget about it all.

 

He felt closer to Zoro, too. They came to a kind of mutual understanding. They still antagonised each other and argued in class and at meal times, and afterwards in the dorm once Sanji returned from chapel, but there was less spite behind it now. They weren’t trying to hurt each other. They didn’t hate each other. Their fights built respect between them. Despite Sanji’s weakened form, barely recovered from the horrors of the camp, he could hold his own. Zoro had been trained well enough to understand how strong Sanji was. And if that meant Zoro also noticed the weaknesses, the parts where his past shone through… well, he never mentioned it.

 

Sanji started to bring water and towels to their sessions after a couple of weeks. A week after that, he even felt brave enough to make some food to bring. From what he’d gleaned from the other Strawhats, Zoro’s family was Japanese. Surely, onigiri wasn’t really cooking? It didn’t count? If it wasn’t really cooking, he wouldn’t get punished for it. He pushed back the harsh, gravelly voice of councillor Jansen.

 

_“If it’s good, and if you put effort into it, it’s more than you should be doing, worm!”_

 

Delicately salted, wrapped in the nori he snuck from the kitchens, and filled with umeboshi – which Robin had given to him supposedly on a whim. She’d smiled that unnerving polite smile of hers and wondered out loud if Zoro might appreciate a dish made with umeboshi. Sanji was smart enough to realise that she was manipulating him. He was also desperate enough to cook that he let her do it.

 

That first evening he’d brought the rice balls, they’d sat down for their usual silent post-spar water. Sanji had taken the onigiri out of the box and handed a couple to Zoro without comment. Zoro raised a green eyebrow and sat back.

 

Sanji saw the moment Zoro’s expression changed. He bit into the offering and chewed thoughtfully for a second before his eyes shot to Sanji’s face. Sanji chuckled at the sheer surprise he saw there. Zoro looked beyond shocked. He soon schooled himself into something more neutral but it was too late. Sanji had seen. It felt like a victory. He might not have won the sparring that day but he’d won something else, somehow. A stupid grin spread across his face for the next few minutes. It dropped when Zoro cleared his throat.

 

“Hey. This is good. You should make more.” He said gruffly. It was the first time either of them had spoken at these sparring sessions. The unspoken rule had been broken. Sanji laughed, and Zoro… was he… _blushing?_

_Oh shit. Oh shit. I didn’t even think about that. I’ve been spending all this time avoiding getting too close because I might lose control of myself, but I didn’t consider… that he might be…_

“S-Sure, mossball.” Sanji said quickly, cursing his stutter. “If you really like my cooking that much~”

 

“Maybe I do.” Zoro replied almost immediately. He was standing, now, and looming over Sanji. Sanji blinked a few times, anxiety rising in his chest. What was Zoro trying to say? On the surface, Zoro was complimenting his cooking. But beneath that there seemed to be some kind of challenge. Some kind of question. Some kind of proposition. Sanji didn’t understand. He didn’t get all these social cues. He had missed out on learning them somewhere between Ichiji breaking his arm when he was five and Father Charpentier luring him into confessional when he was thirteen.

 

After a few moments of silence and silent panic on Sanji’s part, Zoro scoffed and turned away.

 

“Yeah. That’s what I thought. Good little Churchgoing boy thinks I’m going to hell.” He muttered. Sanji, feeling utterly lost, was left alone behind the trees.

 

Despite the confusing encounter, they continued to meet behind the trees to spar. The air was a little more awkward than before, but they spoke more than they did. Never anything important. Little jabs at a poor right hook, snark at a slow high kick. And Zoro always, without fail, complimented his cooking. It was so uncharacteristic of Zoro to thank anyone for anything, but he always thanked Sanji. Every time he did, Sanji’s chest tightened almost painfully with an unfamiliar and unidentifiable feeling. In the weeks that followed, Sanji could feel himself getting stronger. Zoro had never let him off easily, but now it was clear the green-haired idiot was having to work a lot harder to best him. Sanji was proud. Maybe someday he’d be as strong as he had once been.

 

In early October, the autumnal chill was starting to set into the bones of the school. The stone walls of the building were cold to the touch. The food hall, so often empty when Sanji was there, was the coldest place in the school. In the early mornings he dragged himself down there to eat alone only twice once October began. After that he gave in and started to eat all his meals with the Strawhats. They appreciated his presence and told him they were happy he was eating with them now.

 

_That’s weird. Nobody’s ever appreciated having me around except Mama._

Sanji started to slip. He could tell it was happening, but he didn’t try to stop it. He was happier. He had friends, for the first time. He was cooking again, if only small snacks to satisfy Zoro post-spar and the others post-dinner. On a scale of pot noodle to parfait, he was definitely starting to wander onto the more complicated stuff.

 

_Desserts are probably way more gay than savoury things. Dammit. I’m so fucking screwed._

 

And yet he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop because of the way his friends lit up when he made them something. Even though he stuck to simple things, they were always grateful. Luffy, Chopper, Usopp and Franky grinned ear-to-ear and thanked him enthusiastically. Nami had gasped the first time he presented her with a tangerine mousse and had looked at him with a newfound respect. Robin’s praise was more muted, like a soft lavender colour compared to the blinding sunshine the others provided. It reminded him of his mother. Even Katakuri appreciated the desserts with quiet thank yous and subtle nods, although his sharp eyes never betrayed any emotion.

 

Sanji didn’t manage to get a hold of himself until one particular night in mid-October. Sanji and Zoro came back together from sparring. Sanji went straight to his room, and Zoro went into the bathroom. Sanji scowled. Usually he grabbed his pyjamas from his room and showered first. It was an unspoken agreement they had. But tonight Zoro had decided to be an arsehole (what’s new?) and gone in first. To show his dissatisfaction at this turn of events, he took his pyjamas and loitered in the hallway, leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom door. He tapped his toes against the floor in irritation, his hands in the pockets of his jogging bottoms. He swirled the lollipop stick in his mouth with his tongue. He’d found a guy in his year who sold cigarettes but he only had chance to sneak out and smoke a few times a day. He’d resorted, in the meantime, to lollipops. They could satisfy his oral fixation without getting him in trouble.

 

Zoro, for such a simple man, took a long time in the shower.

 

_Maybe the fucking idiot got lost from the door to the shower. Wouldn’t put it past him._

Sanji’s thoughts were _almost_ fond at this point. The awful sense of direction he once found so irritating was now a little endearing. When the door finally opened, sending a rush of steam out into the hallway, Sanji opened his mouth – ready to yell. The words got stuck in his throat. They stuttered and choked him, turning his yell into an embarrassing splutter.

 

Zoro was framed in the doorway. The light behind him gave his portrait a silver glow. The towel was slung low on his hips, and droplets of water ran slowly down the glorious v-shaped muscle of Zoro’s abdomen. They disappeared teasingly into the fluffy folds of the towel, pulling Sanji’s eyes lower before he forced them back up. He tried to focus his gaze on Zoro’s face but he got lost along the way, on the broad planes of the chest in front of him. Bronzed and toned, almost ridiculously attractive. Shaped-out pecks, like someone had carved him out of fucking marble. Zoro’s nipples were small and dark. Perky. A long scar ran from one collarbone, across the muscles, to the tempting hipbone on the other side. Sanji wanted to taste.

 

“You done staring, Curly?” Zoro’s low voice, amused and smug, interrupted his sinful line of thought. He looked at Zoro’s face. A smirk, self-satisfied, greeted him. Sanji still couldn’t find any words. “Oy. What, did my hot bod give the good God-fearing boy a sexuality crisis?”

 

_Oh fuck. Fuck. Shit-! I’m doing it again. I can’t stop. I’m going to ruin everything. I’m pathetic. Shit._

Sanji was aware, vaguely, of the dawning panic. He could feel it on the horizon, crawling over his skin, tightening around his chest like a deathly hug. Fear paralysed his legs. It must have shown on his face because Zoro’s smirk dropped and something that was almost concern replaced it on his face. He took a step forward. This shook Sanji out of his fear for long enough that he could move. He bolted, running back to his room and slamming the door behind him. He slid down to his knees. He clasped his hands together. His mind flickered between prayer and flashbacks, begging and memories. And Zoro.

 

_Dear God. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, don’t forsake me again, please, I can do it, I’ve changed, I’m not like that, I’m not disgusting, I’m no-_

_“-have to put you in the freezer again, Sanji, if you don’t agree to the shock therapy. I know it hurts, but it’s for your own good. It’s the only way to-“_

_Zoro cleared his throat. “Hey. This is good. You should make more.” He said gruffly. Zoro’s smile. Zoro’s strength. Zoro’s almost-concern. Zoro’s-_

_-God, no, I’m revolting, I thought I had changed, they told me I had changed-_

 

Sanji spent the rest of the night on his knees, bent over, trying to plead with God for strength, trying not to remember what would happen to him if he gave in, and totally failing to keep Zoro out of his mind. He crawled into bed at four in the morning, exhausted and empty. 

 

The following day, Sanji skipped breakfast. He stayed in bed until breakfast was over. He stayed in bed until twenty minutes before class was due to begin. And then, as if possessed by some demon, he flung himself out of bed and got ready in a hurry, spending only five minutes in the bathroom to brush his teeth and ten minutes dressing. Even so, his hair was a mess and his tie was skewed when he stumbled through the door of his History classroom. The bell was ringing when he reached his seat beside Usopp. Usopp was in both his English Lit and his History, which made him impossible to avoid.

 

Robin raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“Just in time, Mr Vinsmoke.” She said lightly. He felt her eyes roam over his state of dress, but she didn’t say anything. She moved on to start talking about the historical context of the unification of Germany in 1871. Sanji let out a shaky sigh.

 

“You alright, mate?” Usopp asked him in a hushed whisper. Sanji shrugged a shoulder and didn’t reply. It would be easier on everyone if he just stopped talking to them. But avoiding just Zoro would be hard enough… avoiding all of the others too would likely be impossible.

 

As soon as the bell rang an hour later, Sanji was out through the door and had disappeared before Usopp and Robin could even blink. He avoided the chapel, too, in case Brook was there. He ended up in a corner of the library, where he stayed through his free period and into lunch time. His stomach rumbled and panged with hunger. His anxiety over starving battled with his anxiety over seeing Zoro. He flinched and curled into his seat when memories started to plague him again.

 

_“You can either die a child of God or live as a sinner, Sanji. You won’t eat until we’re satisfied the demons are gone from your body.”_

He wrapped an arm around his midsection. His free hand, shaking, came up to cover his mouth.

 

_Dear God. Please give me strength. Please. I can’t battle with this much longer. Is starvation your method of punishment for letting my gaze wander so? Or am I just a coward for not facing my fears?_

In the end, he spent the whole of lunch panicking in the library. He seriously considered not going to sociology at all, but if his attendance dropped Judge was sure to hear of it. He ignored Zoro during and after the lesson. That evening, Sanji didn’t show to their regular sparring session.

 

Time flew by in a blur. He tried his best to avoid the others. He didn’t cook anything. He skipped most of his meals, too. He resorted to stealing from the kitchens to stop himself starving. Still, the uncomfortable feeling of not having enough food gnawed at his mind. His nightmares – which had been improving – got worse. Every night he was flung back, halfway around the word, to that damn hellhole where pain was salvation, torture was deliverance. Where they told him to hurt was to redeem himself in the eyes of God. But it was better this way, wasn't it? He'd gotten a hold of himself at last. Put aside the foolish notion that he could be friends with men without falling to temptation. 

 

One rainy morning towards the end of October, Sanji got up early to try to grab breakfast before anyone else. Before he could reach the door, a voice stopped him.

 

“Hey, Sanji!” It was Luffy. Sanji paused. Luffy was never up this early. In fact, Sanji was fairly sure Luffy would rather sit through Robin explaining the Treat of Versailles for an hour than get up early. When Sanji turned to look, he saw Luffy at the other end of the hallway waving around a package. “This came in the mail for you yesterday! I thought it might be meat so I opened it, but it wasn’t meat, so you can have it.”

 

Sanji rolled his eyes and walked down the hall to take the package. Luffy had torn into it quite enthusiastically but he’d made an effort to put it back together with tape. When Sanji grabbed the package, Luffy didn’t let go of the other side. The shorter teen’s expression was suddenly serious, his straw hat casting shadows over his eyes.

 

“Hey, Sanji. Is everything okay?” He asked. And for a split second, a fragile moment of weakness, Sanji really wanted to tell Luffy everything. His mother, his siblings, his father, the camp, Zeff. Everything. He wanted to break down and let Luffy hug him and say he’d take care of it all.

 

But then the moment was over. There was nothing Luffy could do. Telling him would help no one. Sanji offered Luffy a ghost of a smile.

 

“Everything’s fine.” He replied. Then he turned the package over and felt his face drain of all colour when he saw who it was from. His smile dropped. Every time. Every time he thought things couldn’t get worse. Without looking at Luffy, he hurried back to his room and sat on his bed to open the package. Inside were what he at first thought were cupcakes, and then realised were actually soaps in the shape of cupcakes. It felt fitting. They looked sweet and delicious but eating them might kill you. With shaking hands he unfolded the letter inside.

 

_‘Dear Sanji,_

_Darling! I miss you so much! I hope everything is going well at the new school, and there have been no slip-ups. Mum says that you’d have to go back to South Africa if you did anything bad. Just remember that! I really want to get married to you already and start having babies. I was thinking Apple might be a good name for our first but Mum says it isn’t Godly enough. We might have to go for Mary instead. It’s funny how there aren’t as many names for girls in the bible. But we can always adapt. Joseph and Josephina! Isn’t that sweet~?_

_Real talk though, now she’s not reading over my shoulder. You’re my ticket away from that bitch. You had better not do any more gay shit. You’re turning 18 and then we’re getting married and then you’re going to treat me right. You’re going to work your arse off in the church and get me some of your daddy’s prestige. Prestige means money. And if you don’t get me enough for at least three cars, I’m going straight to Judge to tell him you’re blowing dudes behind my back. I don’t even care if it’s not true. You’ll be back at that camp in a hot second. I hope you enjoyed the waterboarding, fag._

_Looking forward to having you chained to me for the rest of your miserable life!_

_Love,_

_Pudding.’_

Sanji crumpled the note in his fists. The hollow feeling inside grew deeper, wider, more stifling than ever.

 

There really was no escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I'm a little late with this chapter! I have a lot of university assignments to do and my time just got eaten away by lots of different things. I thought I'd finish my other fanfic first but that hasn't happened because I'm stuck on the epilogue. I've nearly finished it though, for the tiny tiny amount of people who are into ZoSan and Mickey/Emil and are reading both ;)  
> I want to thank firstly everyone who liked and/or reblogged this fanfic on tumblr! I've not been on tumblr long and I mostly use it to shitpost and browse my fandoms so it was amazing to get such a great response. You guys rock! And do you know who else rocks? My commenters here! Each and every one of you makes my day that much brighter. I love refreshing my inbox (yes, I'm sad enough to do that) and seeing a new comment. And the final group of people who make me sosososo happy? That's right, my lovely kudos givers! Never feel bad for just giving kudos and not commenting. Sometimes you just don't have the spoons, or you don't have the time. Everyone who leaves a kudos leaves my heart a little happier at the end of the day <3  
> Just a little note about this chapter... the scene of Sanji and his mum is based on my own memories of my mum, as well as the scene from the manga/anime. My mum died from cancer when I was four. I don't really remember her face, but the little details here - how he doesn't remember seeing her out of pyjamas, how she loves it when he brings her food, how the way she feels is remembered more than her face - they're all personal experiences of mine. It's mother's day this Sunday for the UK and I was feeling down about it, but writing this and connecting with those memories made me feel better. The wonders of writing, guys.   
> See you all next time for more angst, and maaaaybe some smut ;)


	4. Shattered Daydreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.”   
> ― Neil Gaiman, The Kindly Ones

If Sanji had one wish, it would probably be… well, actually, it probably wouldn’t, but if he had _several_ wishes then at least _one_ of them would be dedicated to never seeing Pudding Charlotte ever again.

 

They had been engaged, technically, for a very long time. He remembered the specific day. He’d been ten. It had been raining.

 

_“By the way, Sanji. It seems like you will finally be of some use to me.”_

_Sanji looked up from his food for the first time during the whole meal. When he ate with his family, he tended to try to stay out of conversations. And with good reason. If he ever tried to join in, his brothers would tease him and insult him until he stopped. Eventually he learnt to stop talking. His father addressing him at the table was also a rare occurrence. It only happened if he had really fallen behind in his studies. He was always behind his siblings, but scoring more than ten percent less than them meant a stern talking to. Or worse. He didn’t like to think about that._

_He looked at his father, who was smirking like a cat who’d caught a fat mouse. Sanji’s legs twitched under the table. He wished his little legs could reach the floor. It would be a bad idea to run, but it would make him feel safer if the option were there._

_“I have arranged for you to be married to one of the daughters of the Charlotte family.”_

_Sanji’s blood ran cold, and his eyes widened. Engaged? But he was just a kid! Marriage and family, those things were for adults. It was something far off, distant. Something he could decide himself once he grew up. Before he could respond, Yonji interjected._

_“Whaaaat?” He laughed, leaning over the table. Sanji leaned away on instinct. “There’s really a girl out there stupid enough to marry Sanji?”_

_Judge smirked. He didn’t even attempt to hide his amusement. Sanji’s heart sunk. He knew there was no way he could convince Judge this was a bad idea. There wasn’t even a point in trying. But maybe this wasn’t so bad? If he agreed he could keep his father happy, and then when the time came to marry he could just run away. Or maybe this girl would be nice? He wouldn’t mind marrying a nice girl. Then he could get away from his brothers._

_“Okay.” Sanji looked back down at his food. “Thank you, father.”_

 

That was the day they got engaged, without even knowing what the other looked like. All Sanji knew was her name and her age. She was a month older than him. They were to be wed as soon as he turned eighteen. Technically, now he was in England, they could be married right now. Teenagers in the UK could get married at 16 with parental consent. But that required paperwork, more interference. It was safer to wait until they were 18, so as to give the illusion that Sanji and Pudding were willingly getting married for love.

 

What a joke.

 

There was no way he could fall in love with someone like her. They finally met a few years later, at a party hosted by the Vinsmokes. At first, he’d thought Pudding perfectly pleasant.

 

_Sanji looked at himself in the mirror, adjusted his tie, and swallowed heavily. He wanted to give Pudding a good first impression. After all, they would be getting married eventually. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Every so often he daydreamed about their future together. He would take her hand, like a real prince, and they would run away together somewhere nice. Maybe Scotland. Scotland had nice castles, didn’t it? They could live in one of those. They would be far, far away from his father and his brothers. Maybe sometimes Reiju would come to visit. Sanji would make cake, and they could all have tea and coffee together in the garden._

_He frowned slightly. Wait. Scotland had awful weather, didn’t it? Maybe Spain, instead. His Spanish was passable but he could work on it. He nodded to himself – really, he thought he looked handsome for someone who hadn’t started puberty yet – and made his way downstairs to the hall. The room was large – not quite a ballroom, but close. It was packed with adults. The men were all in suits and ties, and the women were all in long dresses. A handful of children stood beside their parents, dull-eyed and standing ramrod straight. They were clearly bored out of their minds but trying not to show up their parents. Sanji spotted his brothers and sister, beside the hulking figure of their father. He hurried over to stand next to Reiju._

_“You’re lucky,” she whispered. “The Charlottes haven’t arrived yet.”_

_The party went quiet as soon as they did. A large group, bigger than any of the other families. Reiju whispered in his ear that not all of the family were even here. Many of the children were away at various boarding schools around the world. Sanji scanned the children in the group, looking at each girl and trying to work out whether they could be Pudding. A large lady, presumably the mother, swept across the hall towards Judge like a plane coming in to land. Her children followed like a swarm of ants._

_“Judge Vinsmoke! It has been such a long time!” Linlin Charlotte laughed and put her hand on Judge’s shoulder. Sanji stared. He had never met anyone who could measure up to Judge in height, let alone a woman. But she stood about the same height, if not taller. Certainly wider._

_Sanji waited anxiously as the two adults chatted in English, catching up on whatever corrupt church business they would be conducting soon. Sanji tuned them out until-_

_“-and Pudding is, naturally, most excited to meet her fiancé!” Linlin looked over her horde of children and reached in to take the arm of a girl about Sanji’s age. She was ginger, with light brown eyes. Her hair was in pigtails, and she wore a lovely yellow dress. Sanji stared. Judge pulled him forward with a bruising grip on his wrist. He stood there awkwardly looking at Pudding, who looked away shyly. She was the same height as him, probably because girls started puberty before boys. He would soon overtake her, he assured himself._

_“B-Bonjour…” Pudding started hesitantly, with the poor pronunciation of someone who barely knew French at all. “Je m’appelle Pudding.”_

_Sanji smiled encouragingly. She seemed so sweet! His chest swelled with hope. In his daydream he was already decorating their castle._

_“’Ello, Pudding. I am Sanji.” He replied in English. She seemed relieved by this. He hoped he could teach her better French. They could have a bilingual household._

_Under the watchful eye of their families, the two of them conversed some more. They talked about hobbies, school, what subjects they were good at, what they liked to eat. Normal stuff. Then Judge and Linlin turned away and started to talk again. Pudding took Sanji’s hand – he blushed furiously – and pulled him to the corner of the room. The room was so full of adults that he couldn’t even see Judge and Linlin now, despite their height. Pudding’s grip shifted to his already bruised wrist. She squeezed. He tried to pull away but she held on tight. When he looked at her, his eyes widened. Her face had changed into a sour expression._

_“Seriously? I can’t believe you’re my fiancé. Talk about lame. What’s with those stupid eyebrows, huh? This sucks. I’m going to be stuck with a dumb loser like you for the rest of my life.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “And I can’t stand your stupid accent.”_

_Sanji furrowed his eyebrows._

_“I…” he cleared his throat. “I can’t ‘elp being French. Zis eez… not my fault.” He mumbled. He got quieter with each word, suddenly hyper aware of the way the words formed on his tongue. She scrunched her nose and finally let him go._

_“It’s not that hard, idiot. ‘Help’, with a ‘h’. This. With a ‘thhh’ sound. ‘Is’, not ‘eeeeez’. God you’re stupid.” She turned away. In his mind, all of Sanji’s daydreams began to crumble into dust. His dreams of escaping his family into the arms of a loving wife went up in smoke._

_“Listen.” She turned back to glare at him. “My mum’s a bitch. I really hate her. She’s dramatic and throws childish fits, and she controls her kids like we’re just an extension of her. So I’ll marry you, just to get away from her. Your dad is Judge Vinsmoke, so that means you’re going to get a good job. The plan is that we get married, pop out a couple of kids, and then ignore each other for the rest of our lives. Whilst you give me money. Do you get that, Frenchy?”_

_Sanji stared at her. It didn’t sound like the kind of life he wanted to live. It sounded miserable. But instead of protesting, he just nodded meekly. A cruel smirk grew on Pudding’s face. Sanji’s heart shattered into a hundred pieces._

 

Sanji and Pudding had only met once since then. She had been just as unpleasant the second time around, but at least he’d expected it. He’d worked hard to speak English with as flawless an accent as possible, but she’d still picked up on every imperfection. Then he’d been carted off to South Africa and hadn’t seen her since. Now he was living in the same country as her. And she’d sent him a letter to taunt him. He would probably have to see her again soon, with his 18th birthday rapidly approaching. He felt sick. He clutched the letter and tried not to cry.

 

A knock on his door startled him out of it. He shoved the parcel and the letter under his bed and got up, schooling his face into careful neutral. He checked the time. It was now eight, just an hour before class. He opened the door, mouth open ready to tell whoever it was to go away. He froze when he saw green hair and a disgruntled expression. Sanji tried to close the door, but Zoro stuck his foot in the way and barged into the room. Sanji scowled.

 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, damn mossball?” He lifted a leg and put his foot on Zoro’s chest to push. Zoro held his ground and closed the door behind him. Behind the annoyance, Sanji saw a flicker of concern in Zoro’s eyes.

 

_No way. He doesn’t care about me. I’m just a way for him to vent his anger._

 

“Luffy came and woke me. Said something was up.” Zoro grunted. He rubbed the back of his neck. Luffy had probably pulled that dumb ‘captain’s orders’ shit.

 

“Nothing’s up. Fuck off.” Sanji replied. There was an awkward silence before Zoro sighed.

 

“You might think I’m dumb as shit. And yeah, maybe I’m not the smartest.” Zoro’s hand closed around Sanji’s ankle. The grip was light and gentle. Sanji’s heart skipped a beat.

 

_I didn’t know he could touch me like that._

“But even I can see that something’s wrong with you, curly. You look like shit. You’re tired, and you’ve lost weight. You’ve been avoiding me for weeks. You haven’t come to any of our sparring sessions. I…” Zoro looked to one side. He looked _bashful. Embarrassed._ It was a look Sanji never thought he’d see on Zoro. “I… miss you, okay? I miss what we had. So tell me what the damn problem is.”

 

Sanji slowly lowered his leg. He stood there, a metre away from Zoro. His hands clenched at his sides. His mind had gone blank. What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to say? He felt like it was suddenly harder to breathe – but not in a bad way. Like he was forgetting to breathe because Zoro was so distracting. Now that he thought back, he realised he felt that way whenever he was around Zoro. All of the thoughts and fears and worries that had plagued him over the last few weeks vanished from his mind. He threw away his reservations, his restraint. Without the memories holding his body back, he stepped forward into Zoro’s space. His shaking hand raised slowly to Zoro’s face and cupped his cheek. He searched Zoro’s expression. Confusion. Surprise. Hope?

 

Suddenly it was like a fire had been lit inside him. He surged forward, closed his eyes at the last second, and connected his lips to Zoro’s in a searing kiss. He pressed Zoro against the door, hands on his shoulders, curled into fists, desperately gripping his shirt. After a moment of shock Zoro started to kiss back. He grabbed the hair at the back of Sanji’s head and tugged, pulling a low moan from Sanji’s throat. Their lips slid together – uncoordinated and inexperienced but what they lacked in practice they made up for in passion and enthusiasm. Zoro parted his lips first but Sanji wasn’t far behind and they met in the middle, their tongues doing battle as Sanji pressed closer. He moved his knee in between Zoro’s legs to rub at his crotch and was rewarded with a breathy gasp.

 

They broke the kiss momentarily, to breathe, and then dived back in. Zoro’s free hand, the one not in Sanji’s hair, slipped down to land on Sanji’s arse. They both made a noise of appreciation at the touch. Then, suddenly, Zoro pushed away from the door. He moved forwards, pushing Sanji until they reached the bed. He put his hands on Sanji’s shoulders and guided them down, all the while keeping up their tongue tango. He broke the kiss again to move to Sanji’s neck, sucking a hickey there. Sanji moaned, and then-

 

“Ah~!” His whole body lifted from the bed at the sudden pleasure-pain-pleasure that bloomed on his neck. Zoro chuckled, in that infuriatingly smug way of his, and lapped at the bite mark with his tongue.

 

“I like those noises, curly.” Zoro muttered into Sanji’s collarbone. Sanji groaned and brought up his knee again to brush against Zoro’s clothed erection.

 

“Shut the fuck up, moss.” He growled out. “There’s better things you could be doing with your mouth.”

 

“Is that a challenge?” Zoro asked as he unbuttoned Sanji’s shirt. If Zoro was shocked by Sanji’s showing ribs, he didn’t say anything about it. Sanji slid his hand into Zoro’s short hair and tugged him up and into another heated kiss. When they broke it, they were both panting.

 

“Why… does everyzhing ‘ave… to be a challenge to you? Damn idiot.” Sanji muttered. He cursed on the inside at his accent slipping up. He usually only struggled with ‘h’ but now ‘th’ was giving him problems. He couldn’t focus. But he didn’t want to. Instead of worrying about it, he made short work of the buttons of Zoro’s shirt. That glorious chest was revealed to him again, and he couldn’t resist running his hands over it. Zoro wisely didn’t bring up the encounter they’d had a few weeks ago. Instead he ducked his head to kiss down Sanji’s chest, stopping on the way to lap and suck on the perky nipples. Sanji squirmed and gasped, tugging harder on Zoro’s hair. He was embarrassingly hard already, straining in his suit trousers. He raised his hips when Zoro got down that far. The green haired idiot nuzzled his cheek into the bulge.

 

_Shit. My face is probably so red right now. That’s not fair._

 

“Oh?” Zoro smirked. “Did you want something?”

 

“…Mossball… I swear… if you don’t fucking…” Sanji grit his teeth. He was sure his grip on Zoro’s hair must be painful, but if it was, Zoro didn’t show it. He undid Sanji’s belt, popped the button and pulled the zipper down _ever so slowly._ Sanji held his breath and watched. Zoro took his precious time, suckling a wet spot onto Sanji’s boxers where the tip of his dick was already wetting the fabric. He swallowed several times, his whole body quivering and his eyes wide. Zoro slowly peeled down the boxers, finally letting his dick free. Zoro looked up at him. The smug bastard had no right looking that good with a cock two inches from his face.

 

“Tell me what you want, Sanji.” He said in a low, _low_ voice. It was the first time he’d ever used Sanji’s name. A shiver went down his spine.

 

_It sounds so good from his mouth. I want that. I want more of that. I want it forever._

 

“I…” His chest heaved, one hand clenched in Zoro’s hair, the other clenched in the bedsheets beneath him. “Please. Zoro. I want you.”

 

He heard Zoro’s breath catch. For a moment he wondered if he was having the same effect on Zoro that Zoro was having on him. But then the thought left his mind, along with all other thoughts, when Zoro finally licked a strip up the underside of his dick. He dipped his tongue into the slit at the top and sucked gently on the head, then took the whole length into his mouth and sucked again. Sanji moaned lowly, bringing his free hand to his mouth to stifle the noises out of habit. For a split second he remembered exactly why he had that habit – _Father Charpentier telling him to be quiet as he forced Sanji’s hand onto his cock in the confessional booth, telling him to stifle his tears_ – but then the memory was shaken out of him by Zoro setting a fast pace, sliding his mouth up and down, sucking and licking and tracing every sensitive vein.

 

“Mmngh-!” Sanji tossed his head to one side but he couldn’t take his eyes off Zoro, who didn’t break eye contact either even as Sanji felt him relax his throat and take his dick all the way to the hilt. Sanji wasn’t girthy, but he was long, and that was as impressive as it was arousing.

 

But the memory had left traces of doubt in Sanji’s mind. He felt them festering even as he moaned and squirmed under Zoro’s tongue. He started to feel uncomfortable with Zoro being in charge, being on top of him. Zoro must have sensed it, because he slowed down and then stopped, his mouth coming away from Sanji’s dick with a lewd pop. A trail of saliva and pre-cum connected them both still, and a shock of pleasure went through him at the sight. Zoro didn’t say anything, seemingly waiting for Sanji. He licked his lips and cleared his throat.

 

“H-Hey. Can we try… somezhing else?” He asked hesitantly. He felt bad for stopping, for suggesting something instead of going with the flow. He huffed and tried to explain. “Not zhat it’s not great! I just…”

 

To his surprise, Zoro smiled. Sanji was stunned by it. Zoro’s smile was beautiful.

 

“Sure. What did you have in mind?”

 

For a few seconds he was too shocked at the acceptance to move. But then he pulled Zoro back up into the kiss. He wrapped his legs around Zoro’s and flipped them. The anxiety in his chest quelled once he was above Zoro. They kept kissing as his hand wandered down. He broke the kiss to look when he met skin. Zoro had apparently taken his dick out and started working himself as he sucked. Sanji moaned at the thought of Zoro being aroused by giving him pleasure – and, well, Zoro’s dick was _nice._ It was the same length as Sanji’s but a lot girthier. He wrapped his hand around both dicks and gave an experimental thrust. They both moaned.

 

“This good?” Sanji panted, remembering to rein in his accent this time. Zoro kissed him again and thrust upwards, and they moaned into the kiss. When they broke apart, Zoro nipped Sanji’s lower lip.

 

“Fuck, yes. But don’t do that – with your voice. It’s hot when you lose control of it. I _like_ your damn accent.”

 

Sanji probably couldn’t get any redder if someone doused him in pasta sauce. To hide it, he buried his face in Zoro’s shoulder. He felt the body under him shake with laughter, and then suddenly he was laughing, too. It felt good. It felt freeing.

 

But then he remembered he had a job to do. He thrust again, setting up a slow rhythm. Zoro thrust up to meet him and soon they were both absolute messes – gasping and groaning and whispering dirty things to each other, speeding up and then slowing down to tease louder moans out. It was like a battle, or a dance. The pleasure built up slowly, rising and falling like the tide with their back-and-forth pace. Their dicks slid together easier with every thrust as pre-cum leaked between them, onto Sanji’s hand, onto Zoro’s abdomen. The pleasure built once more and this time neither of them wanted to slow down, going ever faster and more desperate with each thrust. He bit Zoro’s lip and whined.

 

“Zoro, I… hah… Je vais, ah~!” He squeezed his eyes shut. His brain was scrambled, he didn’t know up from down, left from right, English from French.

 

“Me… too-!”

 

They kissed again, fiercely, as they came. Climax hit him hard and he cried out into the kiss, his free hand finding Zoro’s and squeezing. He felt Zoro’s lips vibrate against his in a loud moan. They rode out their orgasm in slow, lazy, thoughtful thrusts. Then Sanji collapsed on top of Zoro, panting. He felt Zoro trace a hand down his back, finding the countless scars and tracing them with a curious finger. But he didn’t ask. He probably didn’t have to. It would be obvious to anyone with half a brain that those were whip marks.

 

Whip marks he’d been given for a _reason._

 

Realisation hit him like a fucking bullet train. He shot up, hastily buttoning his shirt and reaching for the tissue box to wipe his hand and his dick. He tucked himself back in with lightning speed and grabbed his jacket, then pushed up his tie which had been loosened by what they had just done.

 

What he had just done.

 

His hands shook. He felt sick. He was disgusting. He needed time, somewhere quiet, somewhere he could process this alone.

 

“Hey, what’s the rush?” Zoro sat up and gave him a quizzical look. His hands shook as he knelt down to tie his shoelaces. At some point they’d taken their shoes off, but he didn’t remember.

 

“We… we have class, idiot.” He choked out. From Zoro’s raised eyebrows, he didn’t buy the excuse. He looked at his watch. They had five minutes to get to their lesson. As he was about to leave, Zoro caught his wrist. Sanji snatched it back.

 

“Don’t _touch_ me!” He snapped. He kicked Zoro in the side, hard, and Zoro went down to his knees. Sanji backed up and out of the open door. Zoro glared up at him.

 

“What the fuck, Sanji?” His eyes narrowed, and he got back to his feet. “You need to tell me what the hell is going on. Did someone hurt you? Is someone threatening you? Is this about those scars?”

 

Sanji kept backing up until he hit the wall of the hallway. His eyes darted from Zoro to the door. To one side, he could see Katakuri at the other end of the hallway. Fight or flight. Fight or flight.

 

Two seconds later he was out of the door and running, running God knows where, just _away_ from here, from Zoro, from all the shit he didn’t want to confront. He kept running even when he almost ran into Robin. He didn’t even stop to apologise to her, instead choosing to _keep running and not look back._ He threw open the doors of the chapel with a bang and hurried into one of the pews to the side. He knelt on the prayer cushion and tried to catch his breath.

 

He pressed his forehead to the wood of the pew in front and took in several shuddering gasps. Fuck. He was in for it now. His father was going to find out and send him back to that place. And this time, Zeff wouldn’t be able to save him.

 

_Please, God. If you’ve ever cared about me at all… even if you send me straight to hell… don’t let father find out about this. Please. Because that place… it’s worse than hell. I’m sure of it._

_Amen._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early chapter! Don't say I never treat you guys ;) I finished my other fanfic, finally, so I had time to write. And I don't have another assignment due til wednesday.   
> Originally I was just going to end with the blowjob but as soon as I wrote about Sanji feeling uncomfortable, I knew I couldn't keep going without resolving that. Folks - consent is NOT just 'not saying no'. If you notice that your partner feels uncomfortable or doesn't feel 100% okay with what's going on, slow down and ask them if everything's good. And if you're the one who doesn't feel comfortable, make it known. I've been on the receiving end of encounters like this and I wish someone had told me that it's okay to ask someone to stop if you don't feel good about what's happening. Just lying there and going with the flow whilst feeling unsure isn't good. And if you're the person who notices something amiss, notices your partner isn't into it, notices your partner isn't in the mood but keeps going anyway? Yeah, you're an arsehole. And Zoro's not that kind of arsehole. I thought I'd have him set a good example. He didn't get annoyed or frustrated because Sanji wanted to change what they were doing. He didn't make Sanji feel bad about it at all. He respected that, for whatever reason, Sanji was now not 100% on board with what was happening - even if he was at first. He let Sanji know that it's okay to say no, it's okay to ask to change things up. What a good boyfriend. Except they're not boyfriends. Not yeeeet >:D  
> Anyway, I've talked way too much about this. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Thank you all so much for your lovely comments, kudos, and likes/reblogs on tumblr! I really appreciate it <3 I love you all!


	5. Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The Church's obsession with sexual restrictions is and always has been wrong wrong wrong. Wrong to be contemptuous of naïve young women like Philomena and me. Wrong to ignore the men involved in creating "illegitimate" children. Wrong to demonize gays while knowing full well how many men and women of the Church are gay. Wrong to excuse and hide criminal priests, transferring them to new, unsuspecting parishes. Wrong to think that forbidding consensual human sexuality is more important than Christ's message of compassion and forgiveness.”   
> ― Ann Medlock

Sanji decided that avoiding his dormmates entirely was far more difficult than simply avoiding their questions.

 

At least if he ate with them and spent the whole time trying to convince them he was okay, he didn’t miss any meals. The day after he’d done… _that_ with Zoro, he’d felt… better. Happier. Although he was hating himself more than ever, and his was constantly warring with himself, something else inside him was now at peace. Like some great need or worry had been ironed out. He still hiked his shirt higher to hide the bite mark Zoro had left. But he felt Katakuri’s eyes on his neck every time they were together – Robin’s, too. They were too perceptive for their own good.

 

He went back to sitting with the others at meals. They were relieved to see him, and his body was relieved for the food. He dodged their questions with bland smiles and muttered something about family problems. They didn’t seem to be convinced. Nami shot him sceptical looks when she thought he wasn’t looking. Chopper was more open with his worry, randomly checking Sanji’s temperature and reflexes to make sure he wasn’t sick. In class, Usopp studied him more than the work they were doing, clearly taking note of the shadows under his eyes and the way his shirts were fitting awkwardly. Franky told him several times that he was there if Sanji ever wanted to talk. Both as a teacher and as a friend. Brook watched from afar every time Sanji went to the chapel. It was in the chapel that Sanji fell apart but he was there for privacy and Brook seemed to understand that.

 

Luffy had taken to making Sanji wear his hat during mealtimes. At first he thought this was weird but he realised from the atmosphere that it was a big deal. Indeed, the hat made him feel safe. Like nobody could hurt him, not even his memories. So at mealtimes – with the distractions of his first ever friends and the weight of the straw hat on his head – Sanji forgot about everything that was bothering him.

 

And Zoro… Zoro kept trying to corner him. Zoro wasn’t about to air his questions in front of the others. That didn’t stop him from taking sly digs at Sanji whenever he saw the chance.

 

“…And then I said: ‘fellas, is it gay?’” Usopp finished his story with his usual flair, and the others fell into laughter – except for Sanji and Zoro. Zoro, who was looking at Sanji with a knowing expression.

 

“Maybe you shouldn’t make those sorts of jokes around curly-brow.” Zoro said offhandedly. He twirled his noodles on his fork, like he was bored with the conversation. But Sanji could see the tense way Zoro’s jaw clenched. Sanji’s grip tightened on his fork in response.

 

“Eh? Why not?” Chopped asked innocently. Zoro didn’t take his eyes of Sanji.

 

“He’s a good church boy, isn’t he?” Zoro grunted. “He’s gotta hate people like me.”

 

Usopp laughed nervously.

 

“Zoro, just because he hates _you_ doesn’t mean he hates all gay people… right…?” He looked imploringly at Sanji. Sanji felt like the ground beneath his feet had fallen away. He stared at the table, avoiding their eyes.

 

_What do I say? Fuck. I don’t want them to hate me. I already hate myself enough for all of us. But I can’t… lie. Not about this. Not when this is the whole reason I’m repulsive._

“It’s a sin.” He said finally, in a quiet voice. He brought up his hand, subconsciously, to rub the mark on his neck. “Nothing changes that. Not desire, not lust, not… feelings."

 

He glanced up in time to watch varying emotions cross the faces of his friends. Confusion. Concern. Anger – and that one hurt, because he was used to anger from people who hated him but not from friends – and, for Robin, realisation. But what she had realised, he didn’t know.

 

The conversation moved on awkwardly, and Sanji hid in his room for two days after that.

 

On Saturday, five days after his steamy encounter with Zoro, Sanji was finally alone. Or, almost alone. Katakuri was hiding away in his room. The others had been distracting him well enough but now he had time to think. Too much time to think. He lay in bed, reading the group chat on the phone Franky had given him.

 

[PirateKing]: Ace says hi btw!!!!!

[ThreeSwordsOneGay]: Tell him he still owes me a fight. It's almost my birthday and I know he's shit poor, tell him that beating him down is the perfect gift.

[OrangeIsTheNewOrange]: Tell him he still owes me £20

[SnipeThatMeme]: Tell him he still owes me the love and affection of a GOOD BRO

[PirateKing]: he says he already gives u love n affection

[PirateKing]: he said ur wholesome lol

[OrangeIsTheNewOrange]: So he’s just going to ignore the £20 he owes me? Typical. Nojiko says he’s a pussy.

[AnywayHeresWonderwall]: Your sister doesn't even know Ace! Yohohoho...

[ThreeSwordsOneGay]: And your sister should know that being scared of Nami’s debts isn’t a pussy move. It’s just smart.

[Only1700sKidsRemember]: Accents are just language flavours.

[SnipeThatMeme]: Robin what the fuck

 

Sanji’s hand slipped suddenly, and his phone fell on his face.

 

_Real fucking dignified._

He tossed his phone to one side and stared at the ceiling. Somehow, Father Charpentier had been on his mind more than the camp. That shouldn’t be the case. The act of sinning should bring to mind everything he had endured to discourage such sin. But instead he was having nightmares about the man who’d gotten him put in the camp in the first place.

 

Father Charpentier had been a teacher at the school Sanji attended in France. He’d been the maths teacher as well as being in charge of the church across the street from the school. It was the church Sanji had to attend daily for prayers.

 

“Sanji, my boy.” Father Charpentier stopped him as the class was leaving. It was late spring, almost three months after Sanji and his brothers turned thirteen. It wasn’t unusual for Charpentier to hold him back after class. He was far behind his brothers in maths, and his father insisted that Charpentier should remedy this.

 

Sanji went over to his desk. “Yes, sir?”

 

“Could you come over to the church after school today?” His smile was wide and – in retrospect – predatory. “I have something to show you.”

 

It turned out that what Father Charpentier really wanted to show him was… well, he didn’t like to think about it. He relived it enough in his nightmares. Charpentier promised him that nobody would ever believe Sanji if he told them. In retrospect, Sanji was probably targeted because Charpentier realised nobody cared about him.

 

It wasn’t until five months later that someone discovered what was going on. One of the nuns, thinking confession was empty, walked in on them. Charpentier had been pinning Sanji to the wall and ravaging his neck whilst he whimpered and tried to squirm away. They both turned to look when she opened the door. Sanji’s eyes, wide and helpless and _begging_ for rescue, looked into hers. She didn’t even look surprised. Just disappointed. She barely gave Sanji a second glance.

 

“Father, do you not think there are other things which currently require your attention?” She said sternly, lecturing the Father about his _time keeping skills_ and not… other, more obvious, more damaging, more heinous acts. That was when Sanji knew nobody was going to save him. This had happened before, to some other boy, and nobody had cared then either. Sanji was just one of a long line of victims. As the nun closed the door and left, Sanji had felt the last of his hope leave with her. She didn’t stay quiet though. Everyone knew nuns liked to gossip.

 

A week later, the rumours finally spread to Judge.  

 

Sanji didn’t know what he had been expecting. Judge might think he was a _failure,_ but he was still Judge’s son. Surely that had to count for something? He wouldn’t be happy that someone was ruining one of his masterpieces, even if Sanji was the worst of them all. Judge came into Sanji’s bedroom, a stern look on his face.

 

Whatever Sanji had been expecting, it wasn’t _this._

“I’ve heard rumours that you have been… fraternising with Father Charpentier.” Judge’s huge form towered over Sanji, who took a step back.

 

“Wha…? Fraternising? No, I-I… it’s not like that, I don’t want… he makes me do it!”

 

“Oh, so you’re blaming _him?_ A respected member of the church wouldn’t do something like that. You must have corrupted him. I’ve always suspected…” Judge looked at him calculatingly. Sanji couldn’t understand what Judge was trying to figure out. “Homosexuality is a grave sin, Sanji. You disappoint me.”

 

“I-It’s not… I’m not, I-I wouldn’t-!”

 

“Sanji… you’ve always been a failure, but this… this is unforgiveable! You seduced such a pure man as him, to commit such a grave sin. God cannot forgive this easily, Sanji. You will have to work hard to earn it.”

 

A week later, Sanji was shipped off to South Africa. A church camp of some kind. It didn’t _call_ itself a ‘gay conversion camp’, but that’s what it was. Sanji didn’t know what was worse, being in the clutches of Father Charpentier or being at the camp.

 

Sanji had tried, a few times since the _incident_ with Zoro, to compare the way Zoro had touched him with the way Father Charpentier had touched him. But no, they didn’t compare in the slightest. Even when Zoro was _rough,_ he was rough in all the ways that felt good and all the ways Sanji wanted to reciprocate. And when he remembered Zoro’s gentle touches… the way they’d hugged – embraced, really – after their climax… when was the last time anyone had hugged him? Luffy often slung his arm around Sanji’s shoulders, but it wasn’t really a hug. Chopper sometimes hugged his arm. But before that? Zeff had hugged him… maybe, twice? When they first broke out of the camp, and again when Zeff was apologising before Sanji left. That memory was still a sore spot. Zeff had nothing to be sorry for, but the old man clearly felt bad when Judge had emerged to ruin everything. As if it was Zeff’s fault he couldn’t keep Sanji away from his biological father’s clutches.

 

But before all that…? Sanji hadn’t been hugged since he was a small child. Not since his mother died, when he was six. Her frail, cold arms coming up to hold him close. And since then… hugs, being touched in positive and gentle ways… it felt alien.

 

Sanji tried, a couple of nights after the incident, to re-create the feeling. He sat alone on his bed at midnight and wrapped his arms around himself to try to ease the itchy, touch-starved feeling that was buzzing under his skin. It wasn’t the same. But maybe that was for the best. Maybe if he tried to touch Zoro like that, they’d both end up burned. Maybe that’s why nobody ever hugged him.

 

Sanji was interrupted from his thoughts by a knock on the door. To his knowledge, Katakuri was the only student in his dorm who hadn’t gone home to see family this weekend. Sanji debated not answering, but the knock came again. There was something weirdly familiar about Katakuri, and he hadn’t been able to put his finger on it. It felt dangerous. Sanji stood to answer.

 

To his surprise – and relief – it wasn’t Katakuri. Robin stood in his doorway, smiling gently. She had her phone in her hand, but she pocketed it when he opened the door.

 

“Oh, Robin, darling! I, um, thought you ‘ad gone ‘ome…?” Sanji kept his hand on the door handle, intending to close the door once she had said whatever she was there to say. He assumed it was about his essay on how Alfred the Great’s contribution to Prussia was a factor in the unification of Germany. Instead of saying what she was there for, though, she walked in like she owned the place. Sanji had no choice but to close the door behind her.

 

“Whilst Franky and I do own a cottage half an hour away, some teachers always have to stay here to supervise those students who don’t go home.” She kept smiling like it wasn’t totally weird that she just walked into his room. She sat on the end of his bed.

 

“I’m not sure I need supervision…” Sanji said awkwardly, trying to prompt her into talking about why she was really here. She patted the bed next to her. He frowned and sat down. For a couple of minutes, she didn’t say anything. When she finally broke the silence, she was speaking French. Sanji went pale.

 

“ _Did you know I speak French, Sanji_?” She smiled. “ _Historical documents in certain parts of history were always in French. It’s useful to know_.”

 

“ _I…I see…_ ” Sanji replied in French, also.

 

“ _So when you were having that conversation with your father,”_ How had she known who it was with? “ _I knew what you were saying. I must say, it was a little alarming.”_

Sanji didn’t say anything. He thought back, trying to remember what he’d said.

 

“ _It was your tone more than anything. You were angry. And scared. Then you said that people here were reporting back to your father. So, naturally, having a duty of care to all my students, I did a little digging.”_

Robin’s face took on a worried expression. Genuine worry, like a parent to a child. Sanji stared. Suddenly it felt like the sociology lesson was all wrong. Robin didn’t have just one child. Every student here was her child, and she was doing her best to help all of them. Sanji bit his lip.

 

“ _There is so much missing from your education file. Educated first in France, and then in South Africa, but no indication of any school in South Africa. You have all the appropriate exam results, but no note of when or where you took the exams. That doesn’t bother me, because you’re doing perfectly well in all your essays so far. But I did take the liberty to look into your home situation._ ”

 

Sanji’s breathing started to speed up. She took his hand.

 

“ _I don’t know much. But your father is Judge Vinsmoke. That’s a big name in the church. I imagine his children are brought up with certain expectations. And if you broke those expectations, you could expect to find yourself rejected somehow. Maybe by sending you abroad. You don’t talk about your faith. You don’t know about everything teenagers your age should know about. You’re scared of cooking, even though you’re amazing at it. You started sparring with Zoro. You cooked for him.”_

Sanji tore his hand away from hers and stood, backing towards the door. She didn’t move. She switched to English.

 

“You clearly have depression, anxiety, and possibly PTSD. Whilst Zoro hasn’t told me anything, it’s easy to guess. He’s obvious. And he left that mark on your neck. You like him, and he likes you, but something has made you terrified of reciprocating. Then you made that comment about homosexuality, and sinning…” She sighed and looked at him with… not pity, but… sympathy? “Oh, Sanji. What has that man done to you?”

 

Sanji put his hand on his face and urged himself not to cry. Crying was weak. Especially in front of a woman. One of his _teachers._ He pressed his palms into his eyes and grit his teeth.

 

“I can’t talk about it, Miss Nico. Not… not with anyone. Because there’s no point. There’s nothing anyone can do. Not against… him.” He took his hands away from his face and smiled sadly. “I won’t put you in that position.”

 

“There’s always _something_ I can do.” Robin stood and smiled blankly. “But you aren’t ready to talk. I can see that. So I won’t force you. But, Sanji, I have some advice. During my digging, I found out about your engagement. I felt it pertinent to let you know…” Her smile dropped. “…Katakuri is Katakuri Charlotte. Pudding is his sister. They’re twins.”

 

Sanji gasped and his eyes widened. He thought back to when he had left the room in a panic, after the _incident_ with Zoro. He thought about how Katakuri’s eyes had been glued to Sanji’s neck since then. Oh, fuck. If he told his family, and they told Judge, and then, and then-

 

_I’m so fucking screwed oh fuck it’s all over it’s already over it’s only bloody October I only lasted two fucking months I’m such a disappointment such a screw-up such a waste of space such a failure I fucking knew-_

“Sanji!” Robin’s voice broke through the panic. He was on the floor – _when did I get on the floor?_ – crouching and holding his head. Robin switched to French. “ _Is it okay if I touch you?”_

Sanji nodded – _yes, please, I need a gentle touch, a hug, a pat, a warm arm, mama, please come back-_

Robin sat next to him and put her arm around his shoulders. She tugged him a little, so he was leaning onto her shoulder.

 

“ _Follow my breathing, Sanji.”_

He felt every rise and fall of her chest and followed, slowly calming his hyperventilation. After a few minutes – _hours, it felt like hours_ – he calmed enough to get embarrassed. He stood up quickly, ignoring the dizzy spell that followed.

 

“I’m very sorry about that, Robin. It was… I didn’t mean for it to ‘appen.” Fuck, his face must be bright red. She stood up too.

 

“No, it was my fault. I should have known that might trigger something. Sanji… does this happen often?”

 

Sanji blinked. What was she talking about?

 

“The… panicking thing? Oui, but it isn’t a big deal. I get overwhelmed. I know it’s stupid. I should just be better at dealing with things.” He shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. He smiled shakily. “Don’t worry about me.”

 

“Sanji, that was a serious panic attack.” Her face was serious. Her eyes were worried. “It doesn’t make you weak. You just need some help.”

 

Sanji glared at the floor – he could never glare at a woman, even if he really, _really_ wanted to. He didn’t need help. What the fuck were they going to do, suck all the bad memories out? He was stuck with this shit. He dug his grave. He had to lie in it. He went over to the door and opened it.

 

“I would like you to leave now, Miss Nico.”

 

He heard her sigh. She spoke again as she passed.

 

“I’m going to connect you with an old friend of mine. A therapist. It’s up to you if you go, but… think about it. And remember, my door is always open for you.” She stopped and held his chin in her thumb and forefinger, forcing him to look at her. “Remember, Sanji. You are not alone.”

 

Then she was gone, and Sanji closed the door. He sat on his bed again. He looked at his phone.

 

[NotAFurry]: Omg Dr Kureha is chasing him around with a needle, place your bets lads

[GearsOrGTFO]: Are u kiddin lmao shes always the better bet

[PirateKing]: he could surprise her with a wrestling move!!!!

[SnipeThatMeme]: Luffy she’s like 90

[NotAFurry]: SHE JUST CHOKESLAMMED HIM AHHHH SOMEONE CALL A DOCTOR

[SnipeThatMeme]: tf she is not a wholesome™ old lady at all she’s a BEAST

 

Sanji put his phone down, feeling a headache coming on. It beeped again, but this time more consistently and with a ringtone. Was that… Cooking By the Book from LazyTown? Sanji stared at the phone. An unknown number. Should he risk it? It wasn’t Judge’s number, but it could be Pudding’s. Or Katakuri’s, or Linlin’s. Or one of his brothers.

 

It could be anyone.

 

_Dear God. Please, if you’re ever going to send me an angel, do it now. Amen._

Sanji picked up the phone with shaking fingers and swiped to answer it.

 

“ _Bonjour_?”

 

“Didn’t I tell you not to use that shit with me, Eggplant? I don’t speak your fancy ass languages.”

 

Sanji’s breath caught in his throat. Tears sprung to his eyes.

 

It turned out God’s idea of an angel had a peg leg, a braided moustache, and a foul mouth that would make sailor’s blush.

 

Sanji couldn’t be happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter took so long! I had a really important assignment to do. It was worth 20% of my dissertation grade and 7% of my grade for my whole degree, so it was important that I focused on it. It's done now but I still have a lot of other assignments to do. Plus, preparing for Eurovision, which is probably my favourite day of the year. I go all out with decorations, food from different countries, making a cocktail from the host country, dressing up... so it's a lot to organise. Please be patient if the next chapter takes a while!  
> Thank you once again to all my lovely, wonderful, fantastic commentators and kudos'ers. I'm constantly blown away by the response to this fic! Thanks also to everyone who likes and/or reblogs on tumblr :)  
> Btw, I know Katakuri and Pudding aren't twins in the canon. Katakuri is a triplet with two other brothers. But I already wrote that Pudding is only a few months older than Sanji, and for Katakuri to be in the same academic year, well... it doesn't work out. So Katakuri and Pudding are twins now :P  
> I'm not sure I'm really happy with this chapter. Not a lot really... happened. And I wrote most of it stressed and half asleep. But it's all setting up for stuff, I guess.


	6. Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The heart of a father is the masterpiece of nature.”   
> ― Antoine François Prévost, Manon Lescaut

In that first phone conversation with Zeff, Sanji didn’t say much of interest. Having just broken down to Robin and all but admitted that there was a problem, he hadn’t been in the mood to pour his heart out. Zeff didn’t press. He asked the usual questions one might expect – how is the school, have you made any friends, how are your grades. The answers to which were vague – the school is fine, I’ve made a few friends, my grades are fine. It turned out that Zeff had got his number – the new number, from the phone Franky gave him – from ‘an anonymous source, and that’s none of your damn business, eggplant’. To which Sanji would reply ‘it’s a fucking aubergine you Australian fucker.’

 

When it started to get too late to keep talking – for Zeff, not for Sanji, stupid fucking timezones – Zeff got down to the root of why he’d called.

 

“Hey, kid. Next time I call, how about you tell me the truth? I know things aren’t okay with you.” His voice was deep and rumbling. Concerned, although he was trying to hide it. Sanji lay back in bed and narrowed his eyes at the ceiling.

 

“What the hell makes you think there’s something wrong?”

 

Zeff chuckled without humour.

 

“…A parent can tell these things, dammit.”

 

Sanji’s breath caught in his throat and he swallowed thickly. Judge had never been able to tell – nor particularly cared – when Sanji wasn’t feeling well. He blinked rapidly to push the tears away and forced his voice to keep steady.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe you just need your ears checking, old man. I’m fine. But…” He owed Zeff, didn’t he? He owed Zeff _so much._ The least he could do was being a little more honest. “…Yeah. I could be better. I’ll talk about it some other time.”

 

“You’d better.” Zeff sounded a little relieved by that. They said goodnight to each other, and Sanji hung up. He kept staring at the ceiling for some time, thinking.

 

_How the fuck did Zeff get this number? Does it really matter? How the hell am I supposed to explain all the shit with Zoro to Zeff? I’m not going to fucking just come out and say ‘yeah we touched dicks and now I feel disgusting.'_

With a groan, Sanji turned to one side and proceeded to do absolutely nothing productive for the rest of the weekend. The group got together at Luffy’s house on the Sunday, as it was Halloween, to watch scary films. They asked – begged, even – Sanji to come along, but he wasn’t feeling up to it. And as he wasn’t yet 18 and the school was responsible for him, he needed parental permission to leave the school. Which, naturally, he didn’t have a chance of getting.

 

Every time he looked at the group chat or was together with the others over the next week, there was a reference to Zoro’s rapidly approaching birthday. November 11th. Sanji was put in an awkward position. There was a party being organised in the dorm. He didn’t want to go. It would be awkward. Sanji and Zoro hadn’t been talking to each other except to exchange insults. It was like they had taken one step forward and four steps back in their friendship.

 

_Not that I want to be friends with that bastard, anyway._

When Zoro’s birthday finally, inevitably, rolled around, Sanji looked for any excuse to make himself scarce. The only out he could find in time was setting up a meeting with Robin’s friend. He was a therapist… or a psychologist, or a psychiatrist. Sanji didn’t know the difference, and he didn’t care. All he had to do was say to the others that he had a meeting with a teacher (the doctor probably didn’t _count_ as a teacher, but it was close enough) and then spend the day lying to a stranger about how okay he was.

 

The 11th of November was a Thursday. Sanji sat through History and Sociology without speaking to anyone. When lessons were over, he got to the dorm before everyone else to leave a note. He couldn’t make it to the party, had a meeting with a teacher, he was very sorry, blah blah blah. He left the dorm and headed to the counselling room. It was surprising that the school had one at all, but apparently it was something some of the teachers had insisted on. The resident doctor – and really, wasn’t a doctor going a bit too far? Surely a nurse would have been fine? – was one Trafalgar Law. He worked at the school two days a week, apparently, and the counselling room functioned more like a real GPs office. Students went there for everything and anything related to their health. Including for counselling.

 

Sanji stood in front of the door to the counselling room for a long time. He had gotten there early, but minutes passed and passed and passed and he made no attempt to knock on the door. Some irrational fear – _but was it irrational, really, with what ‘counselling’ and ‘therapy’ had meant at the camp? –_ was holding him back. This was a church school. Was it really so farfetched to think that Dr Law could be… like all the ‘doctors’ at the camp? He would grit his teeth and bear it – _shock therapy, deprivation therapy, exposure therapy, it’s all to help you, Sanji, there’s no need to be afraid, there’s no need to scream –_ but it might be the straw to break the camel’s back. And he would certainly never trust Robin again for suggesting such a thing as a solution to his issues.

 

Sanji had just about controlled the shaking of his hands and reached out to knock when the door opened. His hand was left awkwardly hovering in the air near Dr Law’s chest. He looked up at Dr Law’s unimpressed face. He was a tall man, slim, with dark hair and an expression which screamed ‘tired’ and ‘done with your shit’. Instead of wearing anything vaguely professional, he was wearing jeans and a loose shirt, complete with a badass leather jacket. All in all, he kind of looked… nothing like Sanji had expected.

 

“You’re late.” Dr Law searched Sanji’s face, making him squirm a little. “No. Wait. You’re not late. You’ve been standing here for some time.” He made a disappointed ‘tsk’ sound and pulled Sanji in gently by the wrist before he could think to run away. Once inside the office, with Dr Law blocking his only means of escape, Sanji had no choice but to sit down. Dr Law sat across from him, at the desk. At first Sanji couldn’t meet his gaze.

 

_What the hell? It’s just talking. I’m not a fucking coward. Even if he tries to hurt me, it can’t be nearly as bad as what I’ve endured already._

And so he looked up to meet Dr Law’s eyes. The doctor was looking at him like he was a mildly interesting crossword puzzle.

 

“I am Dr Trafalgar Law. You may call me Law. I understand that Ms Nico recommended that you come and speak to me.”

 

“Yeah.” Sanji didn’t let his voice waver, didn’t let his anxiety show on his face. “She seems to think there’s something wrong with me.”

 

“ _Is_ there something wrong with you?” Law leaned forward. Sanji leaned back.

 

“No.” Sanji lied. There were many things wrong with him.

 

“That’s a lie.” Law pointed out. His expression barely changed, but he smiled, just a little.

 

“…What exactly did Ms Nico tell you?” Sanji asked. Law hummed and looked at the notes on his desk.

 

“Nothing. Which is precisely why you interest me. Usually when she refers people to me, she gives me a vague idea of why… such as a student needing reproductive advice, or dermatological care. Usual, everyday things. The other days of the week I work in a hospital. Diagnostics, but my goal is becoming a surgeon. I come here to relax.” He looked back up from the notes. “It seemed like Robin wanted to give me a challenge. Or respect your privacy. Either way… she needn’t say anything. You are _painfully_ easy to read.”

 

Sanji gripped the arms of the chair.

 

“The fuck do you mean by zhat?” He growled. He cursed internally when his accent slipped.

 

_Fuck. Calm down. You’re not even getting fucked by a dude and you’re losing it._

“Mental health issues. It’s clear in the way you hold yourself. You hunch your shoulders when you feel overwhelmed, to make yourself a smaller target. You feel like you take up too much room just by existing. Likely, someone has told you that, or has implied as much, many times. You watch me too carefully, ready to react if I should attack you, but you look at the door and the window a lot, too. Escape routes.” And, dammit, Sanji hadn’t even been aware he did that, but now it had been pointed out – yes, he did, he always needed to know how to escape any given situation because for so many years there had been _no escape._ Law went on, his face stoic.

 

“You’re tense. That could just be nerves but you don’t strike me as someone who gets nervous just because you’re visiting a doctor. You irrationally expect something negative from me then – no, beyond negative…” Law paused and looked thoughtfully at the way Sanji’s leg was jittering up and down, the way his foot tapped against the floor. “…You expect something _cruel_ from me. Not because of me, because you don’t know me, but because of what I represent. Medical authority. You’re noticeably thin, and noticeably tired.”

 

Sanji stood abruptly. It felt like Law could see inside his soul and at any moment would discover his darkest secret and be _disgusted_ and then every fear he had would be confirmed. He felt open and vulnerable and vile, like his insides were a writhing mass of sludge and Law was reaching in to rummage around.

 

“Sit down. I’m not finished.” Law’s voice was low and firm. He glared. Sanji sat down. “At a guess, without talking to you… depression, an anxiety disorder, possibly a low-level eating disorder, and PTSD.” He looked at his notes again. His voice softened, though his eyes still gave nothing away. “Sanji. Does that sound about right?”

 

Sanji opened his mouth to refute it all. To get angry, to reply to the negative for all of those things. Of course he wasn’t depressed –

_…aren’t you? On days you don’t have lessons, you don’t even leave your bed. There’s a hollowness inside you. A void. Sometimes the pain is welcome because at least then you feel something._

\- and anxiety, really? He wasn’t a coward. He wasn’t scared. Men, real men, wholesome, unsinning men, didn’t get scared. He didn’t –

 

_…don’t you? When you wake from a nightmare and everything is overwhelming, like the walls are closing in, like you can’t breathe, is that not a problem? When you’re in a social situation and you feel like your skin is crawling and alive with fear, is that not real?_

\- and, hell, to suggest that he had an eating disorder was just stupid. He had no issues with eating. He was naturally lanky –

 

_…are you? The shirt that fit you three months ago is falling off your shoulders. You would rather starve than see other people because when you’re starving you feel like you’re repenting for your sinful thoughts. When you eat, you’re obsessing over when your next meal will be. You’re wondering if you can hoard this food away. That’s disordered thinking no matter how you spin it._

And that wasn’t even going on to the PTSD. PTSD was something _soldiers_ got. He had never been on a battlefield. Law didn’t know what he was talking about –

 

_…doesn’t he? You avoid anything that reminds you of that place. You’re so angry at everything, at everyone, at yourself. Everything you do is self-destructive. You can’t concentrate, you can’t trust, you feel so alone, you feel so ashamed. Plenty of things trigger you to panic. The sound of crackling electricity would send you into a vivid flashback. You can’t tell if you’re here or there, tied up or tied down, in a nightmare or awake, you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe, you’re dying-_

“Sanji. I want you to listen to me very carefully. Can you look around and tell me where you are right now?”

 

A voice had broken through. He blinked. Blinked again. Looked around. White. A desk, a computer. A chair, a man. A window – an escape.

 

“At…” he licked his lips. He didn’t want to get it wrong. It was… too cold to be the camp, he realised. His breathing started to slow. “…England? At… school. The counselling room.”

 

“Good. Now, who am I?”

 

Sanji’s gaze managed to focus on the other male in the room. Dark hair. Rugged beard. Leather jacket.

 

“Law.” His shoulders slumped and he breathed out slowly. He was in the counselling room with Law and everything was fine.

 

_I’m so fucking stupid. I was about to try to convince him everything was fine. He’s not going to fucking buy that now, is he?_

Zoro suddenly came to mind. What would Zoro do? What would Zoro tell him to do?

 

Be brave. Push forwards. Be the best you can be.

“Yeah.” He said abruptly. Law looked confused, so he clarified. “…To your earlier question. It does sound about right.”

 

Law raised his eyebrows. Then he smiled.

 

“That’s progress. I’m glad.” He wrote something in his notes. “You look exhausted. Why don’t we stop here? Same time next week?”

 

Sanji blinked. That was it? No interrogation?

 

“I’m not here to pry, Sanji.” Law looked like he was barely refraining from rolling his eyes. “I’m here to help you.”

 

Sanji stayed silent. It was too good to be true, surely?

 

“Stop looking at me like I’m about to eat you.” Law nodded to the door. “See you next week.”

 

“Uh. Thanks.” Sanji got up and bolted for the door. Relief battled for confusion in his head. That had been… _fine._ Actually fine. Nothing bad happened. He didn’t understand. _Couldn’t_ understand. Was this what real doctors were supposed to be like?

 

As he always did when he was feeling conflicted, he went to the chapel. He sat himself down at the back. He wanted to pray, but he didn’t know what he would say. He didn’t feel distressed. Just confused. Overwhelmed, maybe, by the simple act of a doctor doing his real job. By someone caring. He had just admitted he had a problem. Not just to Law – to himself, too. He was… ill.

 

_Dear God. Please help me through this tough time. Lend me your strength. Amen._

The prayer moved through his mind like water, barely there, an afterthought, making as much impact as a gentle wave upon the shore. He rubbed his hands together. Everything was numb. He was alone, other than Brook, who was reading in a corner and seemed not to have noticed him.

 

The silence was broken suddenly and jarringly by his phone ringing. He shot an apologetic look to Brook – who kept reading, apparently not hearing the interruption – and pried his phone out of his suit jacket’s pocket.

 

Zeff.

 

For a moment he debated not answering. He considered rejecting the call and going back to his little cave of self-pity, alone where he couldn’t drag anyone down with him. But he owed Zeff more than that. He owed Zeff his life.

 

“Hey, old man.” Sanji’s voice was soft. Tired.

 

“Hey, eggplant. You good?”

 

Sanji tangled his spare hand in his hair, his fingers tugging lightly on the golden strands to ground him. He let out a long, exhausted sigh.

 

“No, not really.”

 

“I didn’t think so.” Zeff grunted. “Tell me what’s going on over there, dammit.” The frustration in his voice was palpable.

 

_Oh. I guess he really doesn’t like being a world away whilst I’m… hurting._

Although Zeff didn’t show it often, he cared about Sanji. He was the first person, after his mum, who cared if Sanji lived or died. Cared if Sanji was okay. They shared a dream, and they’d shared a nightmare, too.

 

They first met not long after Sanji turned fourteen. He had been at the camp for about four months. It was ironic that, until the people at the camp brought it up, Sanji hadn’t even realised his own homosexual urges. He didn’t think about if he was attracted to girls or boys. He just assumed he would become magically attracted to Pudding once they were adults and once they were married. But once the teachers and councillors and therapists at the camp accused him of being attracted to other boys, he realised that yes, that was the case. Even before the camp he had been taught this was a sin. He came to the sudden realisation that his whole existence was against nature, against everything he had been taught, against God. At that young age – and even now – he went through phases of pushing back against this and phases of believing it. It was the former that got him in trouble. If he so much as implied that God still loved him even as a homosexual, he was dissuaded. Every technique possible was used. By the time he met Zeff, they’d tried electrocution, waterboarding and isolation. He felt like he was losing pieces of himself each time. The parts of him that were strong. The parts of him that were kind. All the parts his mother loved. It scared him. Would she be disappointed, if he became someone different? He tried to think of the things she said she liked. He tried to hold on to those, desperately, like a lifeline.

 

_“It doesn’t matter how good or bad it is, Sanji. It doesn’t matter if you’ve never cooked before in your life. What matters is that you made it for me. You put your heart into making something. When you put all your feelings into making food so I can feel better, well… there’s no way it can taste bad!”_

Cooking. She loved it when he made food. It made her happy. He looked around at the empty eyes of his fellow students. Could he make them happy, too?

 

The kitchens at the camp were located at the back of the facility, next to the dining hall. The cooking staff didn’t have any contact with the students. Sanji had never seen any of the cooks. He’d never seen any of the servers either. The food was always laid out before the students came in. Which was a problem, sometimes, because some students – as with any school – were bullies. They stole extra portions for themselves and others were left to share. Sanji became pretty good at rushing in to guard his portion. Every evening after dinner they had ‘recreational time’, during which they had a choice of religious study or… religious study. They could read books – toxic books, full of men and women screaming about how _worthless_ people like Sanji were. Or they could watch DVDs, which were much the same thing. Documentaries about the evils of sin, the unnaturalness of their being, the revulsion of their love.

 

One evening, during rec time, Sanji snuck out. It wasn’t easy, but with a few well-placed distractions and a few well-concocted lies, he made his way outside. He found what must be the back door to the kitchens. He could see someone moving about inside. Damn. He hoped it would be empty. He was about to turn to go back when the door suddenly opened, sending the lights inside spilling out into the darkness.

 

“The hell are you doing skulking around here, boy?”

 

A middle-aged man stood in the doorway and blocked out the light again. Sanji squinted at his figure, outlined like a halo. He was blond, and his moustache had been plaited. The accent was off, somehow. Not as strong as the usual South African accent he’d heard from the white people here. It was hard for him to distinguish, being French. Australia? New Zealand?

 

“Well? If you want extra food you need to come after lights out. That’s how I operate.”

 

Sanji furrowed his eyebrows.

 

“N-No, I… I’m ‘ere because I wanted… to cook.” He mumbled. Then he scowled. This man wasn’t going to stand in his way! He had been beaten down and beaten down and he was sick of adults hurting him. “A-And I won’t take no for an answer!”

 

The man seemed to consider something for a moment.

 

“…Alright, Frenchie. Let’s see what you can do.”

 

From then on, Sanji snuck out at rec time every other evening to help Zeff in the kitchen. At first Sanji was scared of Zeff and his way of teaching – often through yelling. But he soon came to realise that Zeff’s bark was worse than his bite. He might be constantly chastising Sanji for doing things wrong, but it was never in a way that was cruel. It was never in a way that demeaned Sanji or made him feel worthless. It never crossed that invisible line between strict teaching and abuse. The kitchen became his safe haven. Whenever Zeff caught the cuts and bruises, the electrical burns, the frostbite, the haunted look in Sanji’s eyes, he would take out his first aid kit and help as best he could. He never offered empty promises, empty comforts. There was no use in saying everything would be okay when they both knew it wouldn’t.

 

Some evenings he couldn’t sneak out, or he was in too much pain to do so, or he felt too worthless to conjure up the effort. Some nights he was kept in the therapy rooms – _torture chambers_ – through rec time. On those occasions, when Sanji didn’t show up to the kitchen, Zeff would seek him out to make sure he was okay. He’d find any excuse to visit the med bay to see if Sanji was there, wander over to the therapy rooms and glance in whilst ‘looking for the paprika’. It helped. It helped Sanji to suddenly, through the pain and humiliation, spot Zeff’s face through the window. It was a reminder that he wasn’t alone. Sometimes, on particularly bad evenings, when Sanji finally dragged his broken body back to the kitchens, they talked. They talked about the future, what they wanted to be and where they wanted to go. They discovered they shared a dream. Opening their very own restaurant, where they could feed those who needed it and cook to their heart’s content. The only reason Zeff was here at the camp in the first place was, in his words, for justice. Zeff’s face darkened into bitter vengefulness.

 

“My daughter was put into this place by her stepfather. She never came out.”

 

At first Sanji had just thought perhaps Zeff meant he was still searching for her. But as his ‘therapy’ progressed from bad to worse, he came to a slow, sickening revelation. He looked out of the window of his classroom one early morning and gazed at the vegetable garden. It always looked to be freshly dug, like they’d buried plenty of seeds, but it was rare that any vegetables came out of it. The dug-up patches looked like they could be rows of vegetables. But weren’t they too small for that? The dull tones of his teacher’s voice faded into the background. His hands went numb. His brain froze.

 

Those rows were child-shaped. The perfect size for the grave of a teenager.

 

Plenty of kids came into the camp. He’d never seen anyone leave. After that, Sanji looked at Zeff in a new light.

 

At the end of each night, as rec time was about to finish and curfew was about to start, Zeff would usher him out of the door. Sanji knew the food they were making wasn’t for the next day. It couldn’t be, the meals were different. But each time Sanji asked who they were making it for, Zeff would dodge the question.

 

Then, in the worst way possible, he found out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Sorry to leave it on a cliffhanger like that, but the chapter was getting too long and I had to split it in half! This fic is going places I didn't think it would. The original plan for this chapter literally just said 'Sanji talks to Zeff, Zeff gives him advice, then *spoiler*'. So literally, like... none of the things I planned for this chapter actually happened, lmao. None of the stuff with Law was originally planned and I had to scramble last minute for someone to fill that role. I hope my Law is okay! I haven't actually read much of the manga that has him in it, so I'm basing what I know on depictions of him in fanfiction. I'm sorry if he's way off. And yes, any British readers, I did skip half-term. I couldn't think of a good place to put it! Also, the eggplant-aubergine thing. They're called eggplants in the US, Australia and New Zealand. They're called aubergines in the UK and France. They're called brinjal in South Africa. I didn't want to change the eggplant thing so I made Zeff Australian. Why not, eh? ;)  
> Next chapter will be, uh, some time. I have a load of assignments to do soon, but on the other hand I do already have some of the next chapter written, so when the next chapter will be is anyone's guess.   
> Thank you again to all my wonderful kudos'ers, comment-leavers and tumblr like-ers and reblogg-ers! You guys are all fantastic and lovely and you make my day every time :)


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